


My Bloody Beloved

by Chimpy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Smut, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Police Officer Rick Grimes, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Slow Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimpy/pseuds/Chimpy
Summary: On his way home from work, Rick finds a rugged man who is beaten to the bone and covered in blood under a tarp in the ditch. He says his name is Daryl.When an unexpected and forbidden relationship blossoms between a married cop and a broken redneck that seems a little more affectionate to be considered just 'friends', everything changes for both of them.





	1. Under a tarp in a ditch

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo,
> 
> So this is my first Walking Dead story. I've wanted to do one for awhile, and whats better than to write about the bromance itself - Daryl and Rick! I'm gonna try really hard to make this a good story, and I'll try to have my writing in peak condition whenever I start a new chapter. Chapters might be slow, because I try to make them good. ^^
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy

* * *

 

Rick slumped back in his chair with an exasperated sigh. He ran his hands through his wavy brown locks restlessly, staring down at the endless stack of paperwork that awaited him on his cluttered desk.

All he'd been doing for the past hour was paperwork, and only managed to complete roughly half of it so far. Most days he avoided paperwork by attending to crime calls with his beloved partner and friend, Shane. But other days, he was forced to sit down and clear the stack of work that had piled up in his absence.

He found the bland office he was forced to work in to be depressing. The walls were painted a lifeless light blue that was practically grey, and the only thing that decorated them was a simplistic clock that was far too loud and made it hard for him to concentrate. The carpet was also - not surprisingly - grey as well, and incredibly worn down from the years of being walked on. It was truly a living hell in Rick's eyes.

Thankfully, he wasn't completely isolated in this torturous office. The room was considerably large, and had enough space for two desks. Shane was lazing at the other desk, looking just as dreadful as Rick. He had a towering stack of paperwork identical to Rick's that he had barely touched balancing before him. It didn't seem he had made a large effort to chip away at the workload though, considering he was simply sitting there.

There was a open doorway between the two desks that lead to a small kitchen. It was practically their own personal kitchen. They often escaped there together to brew coffee and distract themselves from the responsibilities waiting for them back at their desks. Many conversations took place in the kitchen, too many for Rick to count at this point.

Shane was like his brother. Lori and Carl sometimes jokingly said they looked like siblings, which was somewhat true, but there was much more to it than their similar appearances. Rick and Shane had joined the force at practically the same time, and were instantly assigned as partners. As time passed one thing led to another, and they grew to become incredibly close. Shane quickly became apart of the family and attended dinner nearly every week. Rick was truly grateful for their friendship. He felt as if they were connected in some unexplainable way.

The sudden ringing of Shane's cellphone drug Rick back to reality.

"Shit," His partner cursed to himself as he peered down at the screen. "It's Melissa from last night." He looked up at Rick with a toothy grin plastered on his face before turning the phone around to display the glowing screen that read 'Melissa'.

Rick scoffed. "You'd better answer, man." He chuckled, clearly amused by the daring expression his partner had.

Shane took his advice and left the office to go answer the call, probably to deal with the matters of a previous one night stand he'd had.

Rick's gaze aimlessly drifted around the now empty office with a low sigh. The intimidating tower of paperwork was taunting him from it's corner on the desk. It felt like an overwhelming weight balancing on his shoulders that got heavier each moment he contemplated completing it. He ran a hand down his face, dreading the hours of work he had ahead of him. Perhaps fresh air would help him find the motivation to complete it. 

Lifting himself from his desk with a strained grunt, Rick exited the office and made his way to the building's main entrance. On the way there, he passed the front desk where a pleasant elderly woman sat. He directed a friendly wave along with a wide smile at her. She returned the wave with a gentle giggle.

She was the woman who attended the department's front desk. She was widely known throughout the building as the nicest lady on planet earth, and often brought in cookies on Fridays. Rick, like the majority of the officers, liked her very much.

He pushed the glass doors of the main entrance open and was greeted by a chilly breeze that sent a shiver up his spine. The weather had been considerably dull as of late. The previous days had consisted of grey and cloudy skies along with unwelcoming winds, which was uncommon for Georgia summers. Rick didn't seem to mind it too much though, as he found it to be a subtle change in his repetitive lifestyle.

The brick exterior of the building provided Rick something to lean on. It was definitely uncomfortable against his spine, but provided him with efficient support nonetheless. As he inhaled, a cold rush of humid air flooded his lungs, the savory scent of grass and trees remaining in his nose. Like anyone, Rick enjoyed the aroma of the outdoors. Especially after being stuck in a stuffy office for hours on end. Compared to the indoors, the air he breathed in was heavenly.

Suddenly, the abrupt sound of screeching tires interrupted Rick's deliberation concerning the quality of air inside the office, causing him to jerk into a upright stance as a flashing police car rapidly pulled up to the building. Two panicked police officers jumped out and rushed to open the back doors of the car to drag out a handcuffed man who was wailing and screaming vulgar insults.

"Fuck you, Pigs!" Rick heard the man snarl at the top of his lungs, "I aint' done nothin' wrong! 'Yall are fuckin' stupid!"

The thrashing man was drug past Rick and carried into the building, where a crowd of people who had been summoned by the man's volume were gathered around the scenery of chaos. He quickly followed the two officers to take part in observing the deranged man in cuffs. His thinning hair was wild and scruffy, and he wore a stained wife beater along with a sleeveless leather vest on top. And that's when Rick realized that this man wasn't a stranger.

Merle Dixon was a frequent 'visitor' at the police department. At least once a month he'd be dragged in to be put behind bars, usually just for the night, for getting into drunken fights at local clubs and bars. He'd once been locked away for seven years for selling drugs in the past, but since then he's been in and out of the drunk tank. The entire department was familiar with the redneck scum. He never did anything serious enough to be put away for good, so he was tossed aside as their problem. Rick, along with everyone else was forced to accept the obnoxious man as a frequent inmate.

Merle continued to roll and lash around on the ground as more police officers poured in to assist. It was clear to Rick that he was drunk by the stench that radiated off of him. The dark purple eye socket and bloodied nose also gave prominent evidence that he'd just been in recent fight, which didn't come as the least bit surprising.

After more police officers came, they managed to drag Merle to the back where the drunk tank was located. After that, everyone eventually strayed away from the scene to return to their work. Rick could still hear the outraged screams of Merle, but it was merely a hum in the background that was masked by the ringing of telephones and the quiet conversations of officers. The department had quickly gotten used to the faint vocals of Merle being present, and had taught themselves to shut it out.

"Hey," Rick turned around to see Shane strolling towards him with a questioning look. "What the hell's goin' on, man?"

"Oh, it's just Dixon." Rick explained with a roll of his eyes, gesturing to the where Merle had been drug off to.

Shane shook his head and sighed. He appeared to be just as annoyed with the situation as Rick was. "Aw shit, that guy has got some serious issues," He sneered with a scoff. "He just can't stop bein' drug in here."

Rick chuckled at his partner's snarky comment and nodding agreeingly, "Yeah, man. He's pretty crazy."

After they were certain all the chaos had settled, Rick and Shane drug themselves back to their desks to finish the haunting pile of work that awaited them. It was a long, painful, and dreadful process, but after nearly two hours, Rick finally completed the immense stack.

He threw his arms back in celebration as a huge sigh of relief erupted from his mouth. "Ahhh, finally!" A yawn slipped past his lips as he stretched the aching muscles in his back with a exhausted grunt.

"Shane, are you almost do-"

Rick turned to see Shane slumped over on his desk with his head cradled in his folded arms. He was snoring, and his back rose and fell in a rythmical breathing pattern. Rick guessed he had passed out in the midst of working. Glancing at the stack of paperwork on his partner's desk, Rick noticed how it barely looked any different from the last time he had looked at it.

He shook his head and lifted himself from his desk with a worn sigh. With severe caution, he crept towards his partner. Once close enough, he peered down to examine his sleeping features. His thick brows appeared to be furrowed slightly as a small puddle of drool drizzled from his gaping mouth to soak the papers he was resting on. Rick struggled to muffle a laugh, clamping his hand down on his mouth to suppress the oncoming noise. To Rick, his usually tough and rugged partner resembled a slobbering infant at this current moment.

Of course, he snapped a picture. And of course, Shane awoke from the flash in utter rage.

He wasn't too happy with Rick, to say the least.

The majority of the building's occupants had already left when Rick began packing up to go home. It had been a considerably good day. He had managed to get all his work completed, which was a huge accomplishment. And he had some satisfactory conversations with fellow co workers around the office. Though, it was still disappointing he didn't get out at all.

His shoulders rose as he heaved a sigh of relief. The day was finally over, and he was able to return home to Carl and Lori, but most importantly, to his bed. He could barely keep his eyes open as he hauled himself out of the darkened building and across the parking lot to reach his car. He didn't realize how truly tired he was until he started dozing off behind the wheel during the drive home. The car swerved each time he nodded off into slumber, only to be awoken from the jerk of the vehicle with a gasp.

Gripping the leather material of the steering wheel, Rick slapped his cheek and shook his head fiercely. "Come on, stay awake."

Bulgy blue eyes intensely glared at the blurred lines of the road in attempt to stay focused, which evidently proved to be extremely difficult. The urge to sleep aggressively tugged on his lids. It felt as if his eyelids had suddenly gained twenty more pounds, and were impossible to hold open. His thoughts were clouded with exhaustion. He couldn't even see straight. It was as if he was hovering over his own body, not even processing whatever he was looking at.

_Maybe I could just rest my eyes for a few minutes..._

Rick's eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment before opening again. He shook his head vigorously in attempt to wake his tired mind and refocus his attention on the road. It didn't feel safe to be driving while this exhausted, but it was only a little ways until he reached home, and he assumed he could manage until then.

He readjusted his already harsh grip on the steering wheel and shuffled in his seat, struggling to stay awake. His tiresome gaze drifted to the edge of the asphalt road, scanning the blurred bushes and trees he drove past.

Suddenly, something caught Rick's eye. It didn't appear to look like a bush or a tree, but rather a large splotch of black in the ditch. Squinting, he leaned closer to his windshield to get a better view of the thing. Since it was growing rather dark outside it made it hard to actually tell what it was. Assumptions dashed through the officer's mind at the speed of sound. A black bear? A garbage bag?

As he got closer, his foot slowly pressured the brakes until his car came to a gradual stop. He was now right beside the unknown black splotch, and could clearly identify that it was some sort of tarp wrapped around a human figure. He cautiously drug himself from out of the car and gently pushed the door shut. The pistol he always carried with him suddenly felt heavy on his hip. As he crept around the car to investigate, he reached his hand down to meet it.

Whenever it came to homeless men and woman, officers were advised to be prepared with a weapon when first approaching. On the rare occasion the homeless have been known to harm anyone who gets close. So that's why police are told to always be alert with their pistols. Rick remembered this, and gripped the handle of his gun harshly.

Rick's shaky breathing slowed as he crept closer and closer to the tarp wrapped figure. He was now on the other side of the car, and could clearly see that the person was nestled in the grass of the shallow ditch, surrounded by rotting garbage that people have thrown from their vehicles when driving.

The strong metallic stench of blood reached his nostrils when he had drew closer. He clamped a hand over his mouth and nose to block it. It was obvious it was radiating from the tarp. Or perhaps, the person wrapped in it. Rick presumed that the person had been severely injured, and that's why the stench of blood was present. Or, they are bearing the blood of another human. Maybe this person isn't even alive. It could very well be that this is just a dead body Rick is sneaking up on, that has been mutilated and wrapped in a tarp before being carelessly thrown into the ditch.

Anxious thoughts dashed through Rick's mind at the speed of sound. He noticed that his palms had become noticeable sweaty, and his heart was practically pounding against his rib cage. His stomach was twisted with fear, and he felt sick. He thought about calling for backup, but decided against it. Everyone had already gone home, and Rick would be the department laughingstock if he called for backup after hours just to deal with a homeless person.

Puffing out his chest and taking in a deep breath, Rick managed to somehow attain the courage he did have and approached the wrapped figure with a confident step. He was now looming over the curled body of the person, and gave their back a gentle kick with his boot before clearing his voice with a hesitant cough.

"Excuse me, you can't be in this ditch." Rick spoke slightly lower than usual to portray a stern, officer-like tone.

Thankfully, the person appeared to be alive. They shuffled weakly in protest and emitted a hoarse grunt that sounded more like an animalistic growl before going limp once again. The fact that this person was actually living provided Rick with a little more bravery, and his boot met the individual's back once again.

"Hey," He continued, eyeing the tarp harshly from above. "You need to get out of this ditch. I am part of the Atlanta Police Department and I-"

Rick was cut off when a much louder, much more agitated groan sounded from the tarp, followed by thrashing and shuffling before the tarp was suddenly thrown aside to reveal a man who quickly scrambled to his feet. Before Rick could even react, the man had the collar of his police uniform clenched tightly in his fist and was pulling his face towards his own.

"Just leave me the hell alone ya damn pig!" The man roared at the top of his lungs directly into Rick's face, spit flying. "Can't I just be left the hell alone?!"

Rick noted that he was very similar in height, nearly identical. His wild hair was extremely dark - nearly black - and acted as a curtain to the top half of his dirtied and severely beaten face. A small amount of scruff was located upon his bloodied chin, and his narrow eyes casted a penetrating, icy glare that Rick thought as feral. Similar to that of a cornered wolf, in some aspects.

Struggling against his grip, Rick somehow managed to travel his hand downwards to take hold of his pistol. He quickly yanked it from his holster and jabbed the end of it into the other man's rib cage, pushing it mercilessly into his tattered and blood stained shirt until he felt his collar slowly be released. The man backed away from Rick slowly, hands cautiously finding their way to the air as a sign of submission. The man's eyes held words of "Fuck you, you win." and somehow, Rick knew what he meant without him even having to open his mouth.

"Get on the ground!" Blared Rick, taking a step back so his gun pointed directly at the bloodied man's temple. It was obvious he was reluctant by the way he very slowly sank to the ground, eyeing Rick from below with a swirling hatred in his blue eyes.

"Well, ain't you just tough shit officer friendly." The man hissed up at Rick with a snarl. He had a low, grumbly voice, which seemed to make his nasty insults just as cruel.

Keeping the kneeling man at gunpoint, Rick managed to fish his phone from his back pocket. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Fumbling, he managed to dial Shane's number with one hand before holding the phone up to his ear. As it rang he made sure to meet the vicious gaze of his opposer, casting his own equally menacing one in return. Rick didn't want this man to think he was soft. Which, he knew, he definitely wasn't. He has handled criminals convicted of murder since the day he joined the force. This sack of redneck shit wasn't anything new.

 _"Hello!?"_ Rick heard Shane answer loudly from the other end. Booming music was blaring in the background alongside people screaming and cheering. He knew his partner must be out partying, and probably already drunk.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed forwards anyways. "Shane, I need your help man, I got this-" He was cut off when he heard a - seemingly drunk - female voice in the background beckoning Shane to dance.

 _"Aw man, sorry I gotta go! I'll catch you later for drinks though!"_ Shane's hoarse voice blared through the speaker.

"No, no, wai-" Before Rick could even finish his sentence, Shane had hung up. His once confident grip around the phone loosened, and he angrily shoved it back into his pocket with a frustrated sigh.

Sure, Shane was a great friend who was humorous and supportive, but Rick found him to be severely unreliable. He seemed to be always focused on alcohol, women, and partying, something Rick occasionally enjoyed, but not as often as his reckless companion. It made him angry. He made no effort to try and change it, though. Because he knew that Shane will be Shane, and Shane is stubborn.

Both hands returning to the pistol, Rick noticed the mocking sneer the kneeling man wore.

What does he do with this guy? He's covered in blood, beaten to the bone, and looks as if he hasn't taken a shower in months. Rick could call the department to take him away, but once again, disturbing anyone after hours because he can't handle a grubby hobo on his own isn't an option. He could, technically, just leave him to lay in the ditch, but that would be breaking a major police officer rule. As an officer, Rick can't simply ignore a problem. He learned that the hard way when he had let something slip in his first years on the force and ended up getting his head chewed off by the chief. And besides, laying bloody and bruised in a ditch under a tarp seems inhumane.

Sighing, Rick hesitantly - and very slowly - lowered the gun.

"Okay listen," He began while pinching the bridge of his nose, brows furrowing. "What's your name, man?" Though annoyed, Rick now had a seemingly steady tone. He attempted to appear trusting in hopes the man, who seemed rather uncooperative, might cooperate with him.

After a long and tense silence, an quiet answer finally arose from the man's cut lips. "Daryl."

Daryl. Rick thought it suited him.

"I'm Rick."

 


	2. Ancient eyes

  


Rick's gaze dropped to examine the ring of flattened grass where Daryl had been previously laying. It appeared to be damp, most likely due to the previous days of light rain. Layers upon layers of crushed garbage somehow managed to tangle tightly into the grass, and had an unbearable rotting stench that made Rick's nose wrinkle.

He didn't understand how this man could withstand it, nevermind lay among it. No one in their right mind would make the conscious decision to curl up in a filthy ditch such as this one, right? Though, he thought maybe this man had a reason. He was severely injured, after all.

He looked back down to the man now identified as 'Daryl' before offering a hand. He was still kneeling, which was an ethical thing to do. Anyone with a gun snuggly attached to their hip should be reasoned with caution. But either way, the gun was already safely back in the holster. And if he and this grimy stranger were going to have somewhat of a normal conversation, then he should at least be standing.

From behind greasy locks, Daryl eyed Rick's extended hand with great suspicion. The thin line known as his mouth was tightly twisted into an untrusting scowl.

As helpful as he was trying to be, Rick felt just as frustrated with the situation as Daryl seemed to be. He would much rather be at home wrapped in the fluffy sheets of his bed with Lori by his side than dealing with this guy.

He sighed impatiently before waving his hand around in the air at Daryl. "C'mon, I'm not gonna fight you anymore."

After a considerably long period of silence, He felt the man's heavy hand grip his own. Looking down, he noticed how the surface of Daryl's hand appeared to be severely scarred. Not recent scars, by the looks of it, but faded ones. They looked rough and worn, like his hands were forced into labour since the day he was born - which Rick assumed was a reasonable guess.

Hoisting him up, He took a small step back to give Daryl some space to find his feet. Despite the fact they seemed to be on somewhat equal terms now, Rick was still on high alert and his hand itched to equip his pistol. He didn't completely trust the mysterious man, but had just enough faith in him to have a conversation without pointing a gun at his head.

He wiped the dirt that had smudged onto his hand from Daryl's grasp off on his pant leg before meeting his eyes once again, which still seemed to hold an skeptical look. "I gotta ask," Rick began hesitantly. He glanced down at the dirtied tarp. "What were you doing in a ditch under a tarp...?"

Rick could clearly see Daryl's broad shoulders grown tense when the question had been asked. His gaze slowly fell from Rick's own to focus on the ground. It seemed that he had perhaps brought up a sensitive topic by asking that question, due to the way the once blunt and ill-mannered man suddenly had a cold and distant demeanor in mere seconds. It was as if he was avoiding the question, which he probably was.

"It's none of yer' damn business, _cop_." He suddenly spoke up. His last word was spat towards Rick like it was poison in his mouth, and before he knew it, those bright blue eyes were right back on him.

Yup, he still seemed to be a jerk.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rick sighed. "You _do_ see that I'm trying to help you here, right? And I can't just leave you in this ditch, no matter how much I actually want to. It would be breaking my responsibilities as an officer." He tried to explain the situation as best as he possibly could despite being severely annoyed.

Daryl only quietly grunted in response.

The man was like a feral beast or animal of some type. Instead of using words, he used his eyes to speak to Rick. Or apparently, he just grunted in acknowledgment instead of saying 'yes' or 'no'. It was strange to Rick, but he decided to carry on the mostly one sided conversation anyway.

He pushed forwards. "Is there anywhere you have to go? Any family members or friends that will take you in?"

Daryl's gaze faltered. And after a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Nah."

His answer was simple yet extremely bold. Just one word seemed to hold so much pain and sorrow in it, as if it was shouting at the top of it's lungs "I don't have anyone, nobody wants me and nobody cares about me accept for myself." And somehow, Rick felt the hurt.

Rick's hand traveled up to meet the back of his neck and he rubbed it thoughtfully. "I see."  He muttered as he watched the man with a thoughtful gaze.

His chest felt tight.

Suddenly, a single splat of rain landed directly on the tip of his nose, sending a shiver down his spine and causing goosebumps to sprout from his forearm. He joined Daryl to stare up at the menacing grey clouds which swirled overhead, and was greeted by millions more drops plummeted from the heavens above to join the first one that had fallen. Of course, now of all possible times, it was raining. Great, just great.

Rick looked to Daryl. He could see that his long dark locks were already soaked with water - which was probably for the best since it seemed he hadn't taken a shower in weeks and reeked of road side trash.

"Daryl, get in the car. I'm going to take you somewhere you can stay." He said loudly to be heard over the rain while scrambling out of the slippery ditch.

Daryl, not surprisingly, looked incredibly skeptical just like he had before. His eyes held a questioning look that shot harsh daggers in Rick's direction, as if he was saying "are you serious? no fucking way."

"You'll freeze out here otherwise." Rick tried to convince him, meeting his menacing gaze.

Daryl simply stood there in the rain, his already tattered and bloody t-shirt sticking to his torso as it collected more and more rain. Rick must have made a valuable point, because it looked like Daryl was considering the offer, seriously considering it - something Rick hasn't seen him do since the first moment they met a few minutes ago. His gaze bounced from Rick's car to the tarp and back to the car again, as if he was weighing his options like one would do with a weight scale. And eventually, like anyone would have to do, he was forced to make his decision.

Rick watched from the side of the road as he climbed the slippery incline of the ditch to stand next to him.

"Fine."

Wearing a small smile, Rick lead him to the car.

 

The drive was quiet. The only noise that managed to reach Rick's ears was the faint humming of the engine, the splatter of rain on the windshield, and the quiet static of the radio which he eventually turned off. The passenger seat was practically ruined at this point. It was covered by the mud and blood that clung to Daryl's old and torn shirt. Rick could already envision the enraged look on the chief's face when he discovers the horrific mess in the department's cop car. As best as he could, he tried not to think about it.

It was rather dark now, and the only source of light that seemed to reach the car's interior was the powerful orange glow of passing streetlights. Each time Rick passed one, he stole a peek of the shadowy figure that sat next to him in hopes he could get a glimpse of his face. Which, he occasionally did, but not very clearly.

Rick gripped the wheel anxiously and sighed.

Yes, he had told Daryl he was going to take him somewhere he could stay. But, he left out one detail. The place they were driving to was his own home.

He was reluctant, at first, to make the decision to allow this muddied animal of a man to come into his house with Lori and Carl. But after learning that this man had absolutely no one looking for him, no one who cared enough to provide him with a shelter, and noone to treat his injuries, he had to. Rick Grimes wasn't the kind of man who left people in ditches to sleep under tarps. He wouldn't let himself become that.

After a couple more minutes of driving in the dark, Rick pulled into the driveway. Through the windows he could clearly see that the interior of the house was fully lit, which meant Lori was still wide awake and probably anxious for his late arrival. He cussed to himself at this, and twisted in his seat to face Daryl.

"Here's the place." Rick announced.

Daryl leaned curiously forward in his seat to peer up at the structure. His squinted eyes appeared to be rather wide at this current moment, as it appeared to be a lot for him to take in. Rick wondered if he'd ever been within the walls of a house such as this one. If not, what kind of houses was he was accustomed to? The invision of a poorly kept trailer came to Rick's mind when he thought about it.

"Who's house is this?" Daryl questioned quietly under his raspy breath, peering over at Rick suspiciously with shaded eyes.

Rick shuffled uneasily in his seat. "It's mine."

Silence flooded the car's interior after his words had left his lips. Without even having to look, Rick could somehow already sense the man's glare was burning a hole right through him. During the time they had spent together, Rick came to realize that Daryl had a glare like no other. He felt heavy under those icy set of eyes, as if he was wedged under some kind of weight that he couldn't squeeze his way out of.

"I ain't' stayin' in there." Rick hear the quiet, gruff voice of Daryl utter from beside him.

"Why not?" He questioned. "You're welcomed in, and it's only gonna be for the night."

Daryl restlessly squirmed in his seat with a low grumble and awkwardly glanced up at the house. He seemed nervous. Nervous about staying the night in his house, Rick supposed. It was like he was somehow intimidated by it. Rick didn't think he was the type to simply accept a stranger's act of generosity that easily anyways.

Sighing, he sank back in his seat. "You'd be sleepin' out on the couch. Nobody is gonna bother you, and you can leave first thing in the morning." He spoke carefully and glanced over at Daryl to see if he'd convinced him.

Daryl wasn't looking to stay long. The only reason he'd agreed to get in the car in the first place was because he was promised a roof over his head. And Rick knew this by the way he eyeballed the house from the passenger seat timidly, shoulders tense as if he might bound away at the first sign of danger.

All the man needed was a place to stay. And Rick had that here for him.

A small sigh sounded from Daryl as his shoulders fell. "Alright. But only one night."

Success.

 

"Lori!" Rick announced as soon as he stepped through the door with Daryl - who was cautiously trailing behind him with wild eyes. "I've got someone here with me!" He peeled off the heavy coat he wore over his uniform and hung it on the nearby clothing rack that stood obediently by the door.

In moments, Lori came prancing around the corner to greet her husband with a big, pearly white smile, but came to an abrupt halt when she saw the bloodied and beaten figure that loomed behind him. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw clenched when she saw Daryl. Her once excited smile was quickly replaced by a scornful glare that was shot directly at Rick, swirling with rage.

"Rick," Her voice was low, and it was clear that she was restraining herself from losing her shit in front of their new 'guest'. "Can we talk? Privately?"

Gulping, Rick glanced back at Daryl - who, not surprisingly, wore a cold scowl hidden behind greasy locks of hair - and sighed.

"Yeah, alright." His shoulders slumped as he followed his wife into their bedroom.

He knew exactly what was coming. A long and painful argument about the grubby hobo standing at their door with blood on his face, and how Rick had no right to bring him in their home. This wasn't anything new to Rick. Lori always seemed to be raving about something he did wrong. And at this time, it was bringing in Daryl. It was a routine in their marriage, and a somewhat unhealthy one at that.

As soon as the bedroom door had latched, Lori's bulgy pair of angry eyes were immediately studying Rick. It was as if they were trying to peel of his armour to find something more underneath.

"Who is that?" She crossed her arms, single brow quirked.

Rick's chest dropped as he sighed. "His name is Daryl," He began to explain, rubbing the back of his neck nervously - which he seemed to do whenever he felt stressed or anxious. "He was sleepin' under a tarp in the ditch." His last sentence only seemed to make matters worse.

Lori sighed in frustration. "A ditch, Rick? A ditch!?" Her fists were clenched at her side as she began to pace. "What made you think it'd be okay to bring him in here?! He's covered in mud head to toe and bleeding all over the place for heaven's sake!"

"He needed my help, Lori!" Rick snapped back. His hands were flung into the air with wide blue eyes. "What was I supposed to do? Should I of just left him there in the ditch without anyone there to help him?!"

He watched as she gripped her forehead in frustration. "No! But you shouldn't of taken him here!" She snarled in his direction with a mean look in her eyes. "He looks like a murder! What if he hurts Carl?! Every thought about that, Rick?"

An annoyed sigh escaped Rick's clenched teeth.

She just didn't get it. Daryl - despite his appearance - needed help, and if Rick hadn't came along, he'd probably be sleeping in a ditch bruised and alone with noone to help him. Lori never seemed to be as considerate to strangers as Rick obviously was, which he considered to be a major flaw in her otherwise great personality.

"It's only for one night, Lori. And he's not a bad guy," Rick sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. It was something he did whenever he was irritated. "I'll be sure to kick him out first thing tomorrow."

Lori's displeased frown seemed to buffer slightly at his words. "You promise?" She slowly questioned with a after a long pause, eyeing him skeptically.

Moving closer to her, Rick took his wife's hands in his own and squeezed them firmly. He stared deeply into her large eyes with a bold look of confidence. "I promise."

Now that he had permission, he knew he could do this. He knew he could help him.

And with that, a quick kiss and a brief hug brought Rick and Lori back out of the bedroom.

To Rick's relief, Daryl was still standing awkwardly at the door with an uncomfortable look on his bruised face. He still undoubtedly looked nervous, but at least he hadn't left despite looking as if he desperately wanted to.

Lori leaned into Rick. "I'm going to bed. I'll let you handle this." She whispered. And with a polite smile flashed in Daryl's direction - which wasn't returned - she made her way back to the bedroom before latching the door shut behind her, which left Rick and Daryl now standing together alone.

Rick could already feel the burden of awkwardness creep up to his shoulders. He was almost certain Daryl felt the same way, considering that his gaze was fixated on the polished floorboards instead of him. Now that they were here, and he was completely alone with the grimy man, he didn't know what to do with himself. How should he handle this situation? He never expected it to come to this. But yet, he's glad it did. It would pain him to imagine Daryl curled up in a roadside ditch in the freezing rain. He recoiled at the thought.

"So," Rick began with a cough, breaking the tense silence between himself and Daryl. "I'm guessing you wanna take a shower?"

Daryl seemed surprised by the offer as his narrow eyes held a look of disbelief. It was as if he couldn't fathom the idea of actually taking a shower. The thick layer of grease, dirt, and of course, blood on Daryl's face was in desperate need of cleansing, and it made Rick wondered how long it had been since he'd taken a shower. Days? Weeks? He assumed long.

"If it ain't a problem." Daryl quietly uttered from under his breath, large shoulders shrugging.

A broad smile found its way to Rick's face. "Of course not."

 

Later, Daryl comes out of the shower and Rick barely recognizes him.

His stringy hair appeared lighter now. The shower must've lifted a layer of grime from his head to reveal his natural hair colour, along with its natural texture. Unlike before, it was now smooth and actually decent looking. His face no longer had smears of mud and blood on it, thankfully, which made it easier for Rick to actually get an idea of what he looked like. And to his surprise, he was rather good-looking in an unique way. From his narrowed eyes and scraggly facial hair, to his thin lips and sharp jaw, Rick thought he had an overall attractive face.

Though, as one issue is solved, another one arises.

Now that the thick coating of filth had been washed from Daryl's face, it revealed just how severe his wounds were. Rick didn't even noticed it before, but he actually had an appalling dark purple black eye that had been covered up by the mud and dirt. Various fresh scars littered his cheeks and lips as well, and his face looked painfully sore and worn out.

Seeing the vast display of cuts and bruises worn upon Daryl's face made Rick more glad than ever that he made the choice to take him home with him, even if it caused a short dispute between him and Lori. If it weren't for him, know knows where Daryl would be at this moment. Probably still in that ditch.

He studied Daryl's wounds. "Your face looks like shit."

The redneck shrugged in attempt to brush off the concerned gaze that examined him. "It's nothin'" He grumbled in response, his voice sounding throaty and rough as always.

"Doesn't look like nothin'." Replied Rick with a stern voice. "Let me take you to the bathroom, I can patch you up a bit."

The offer earned Rick a skeptical glare from Daryl.

"C'mon, it won't take long."

Silence, then a reluctant answer.

"Fine."

 

The bathroom seemed rather small with the both of them in there together. Daryl sitting on the lid of the toilet and Rick towering over him, there was limited space for either of them to maneuver. Rick was prodding at the cuts and slashes on the other man's cheek and jaw with a qtip that was saturated with rubbing alcohol. Each time he made contact, he would bring forth a painted grunt from Daryl.

"It's alright," He would say each time. "I'm nearly done."

And eventually, he came to the point when he was actually done.

He rummaged around in the first-aid kit he had open on the bathroom counter before pulling out a small bandage. He peeled off the excess paper, and leaned back over Daryl to carefully press it onto the bridge of his nose where a small gash was located.

Taking a step back to examine his work, a look of satisfaction washed over his face. "Alright, I'm done." He exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Finally, after working hard at patching up the nasty map of pain that was beaten into the other man's face, he was done. Thankfully he wasn't too bad at it, considering he had some experience from work.

"Wanna take a look?" He gestured towards the mirror which hung over the bathroom sink.

Standing from where he sat in silence, Daryl sauntered over to the bathroom counter to examine his reflection.

"What do you think?" Rick asked, peering at the mirror from somewhere behind Daryl in attempt to capture his reaction.

Some areas of his skin still held a dark blue and purple pigment since he was still severely bruised, but his most gruesome cuts were no longer visible. They had been covered by white bandages that appeared extremely bright against his dark appearance. Despite the fact it still looked like Daryl's bruised face was throbbing with pain, his wounds no longer appeared dirty, but rather very clean. Therefore, a reduced chance of them getting infected.

"It's good." He replied with a gruff tone. It was the only feedback Daryl gave before turning back to meet Rick's eyes.

Rick supposed he wasn't one for talking - something he had already figured out some time ago when they had first met - but didn't mind.

"C'mon," Rick moved to stand by the doorway. "I'll take you to the couch."

 

Two pillows and a heavy blanket was drug out to the couch for Daryl to sleep on. It wasn't the most appealing sleeping area in Rick's eyes, but he knew Daryl wouldn't care one bit. Nonetheless, it seemed like a much better option than sleeping in a ditch under a tarp.

"Alright," Rick huffed, gazing down at the arrangement he had prepared for the other man. "Here you are."

He peered over at Daryl who was standing somewhere behind him. He was staring at the couch as well, yet he appeared to be somewhat unsure about it. His thin lips were contorted to portray a nervous look upon his harsh features, like he was a kid at his first sleepover or something. Like he wasn't sure if he was welcomed there.

Seeing this, Rick questioned if this was the same man who had yanked him by the collar and yelled at him. This was a different side of him, he realized. A more unsure and quiet side that he didn't know existed. Somewhat childlike, in a sense.

"What's wrong?" Rick questioned, turning to face him.

Daryl peered down at his shuffling feet. "Is it really okay?" The very quiet question arose from his skinny lips as if he was ashamed to ask, gaze lifting to focus on Rick from behind dark locks.

He raised a brow in confusion. "What is?"

A tongue poked out from Daryl's mouth to lap at his lips before hesitantly continuing. "That I sleep here?"

"Oh," Rick's jaw clenched at the sudden question. "Yes, of course it is."

Daryl gave a small nod before very slowly drifting over to sit on the couch's edge in silence. He scanned the blanket skeptically, and glided his scarred hand slowly across it's fluffy material, as if he was taking the time to appreciate it's delicately crafted surface.

Rick gulped. "Alright, so.. If you need anything, just ask."

Narrow eyes flickered upwards to look at him. They possessed a soft gratefulness that swirled in them like waves at sea, something Rick had never seen in the man's eyes until now. Before, he resembled a feral animal, covered in blood and vicious. But now, he seemed docile. Staring up at Rick with clever eyes that looked ancient in the darkened living room, he could feel something inside him clench.

"Mhm." Rick could heard the low mumble of Daryl grunt, knowing it mean "yes".

He took a final glance at the man who sat on his couch before turning on his heels.

"Well then, Goodnight."

"Night."

Something in his chest tightened when he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okkkkkay, so this took me so long to write.
> 
> Some parts of it are pretty sloppy, and I apologize for that. And the reason it took long to post was because I was trying my very best for it to be good, and I made sure to take my time explaining the story.
> 
> But anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and I thank you for reading! ^^ 
> 
> More chapters to come~


	3. Letting stray dogs go

 

When Rick awoke, he was greeted by silence.

He often found himself waking up earlier than most. It was something he did for as long as he could remember, even without the assistance of an alarm clock blaring in his ear. Yet, he wasn't frustrated by it. He got to see the rising sun each and every morning in utter solitude,  which he found to be a great start to his day.

The sun's gentle morning rays casted itself against the sharp edges of his face. It felt warm against his skin, a familiar warmth that never seemed to get old despite years of being in it's light. It soothed him, as if it was a mother's gentle touch caressing his jaw with delicate and loving fingers.

He brought the mug of coffee upwards to meet his lips as he stared out the kitchen window. The streets seemed rather empty at this hour, which isn't surprising, considering that most of the neighborhood's houses seemed devoid of any activity. The lack of people somehow felt still, as if the world had stopped spinning and had froze time. 

Rick liked that feeling, it allowed his mind to wander.

He thought back to the events of yesterday. The ditch. The tarp. The aroma of blood. The squinted eyes that belonged to the man called Daryl.

Rick hadn't even checked to see if Daryl was still sleeping on the couch, nevermind if he was still there at all. Part of him expected him to already be gone, but hoped that wouldn't be the case, since he still had so many questions to ask him. Such as - How did he get such gruesome wounds? What was he doing in a ditch? And of course, who was he really?

Not much was explained yesterday. When Rick had attempted to ask Daryl why he was in a ditch, the question was deflected with an insult. So he was hesitant. Hesitant to question the man any further in fear that he might trigger some kind of vicious outburst. 

With a sigh, he glanced anxiously towards the living room.

_ Guess I should wake him up. Maybe he's hungry. _

Rick set the mug down on the counter's dark surface before steadily exiting the kitchen, quietly descending into the large open entrance that led into the living room. He poked his head out, and a breath of relief rushed past his lips when he saw a large dark figure bundled on the couch.

He was still there. Daryl was still here.

Rick cautiously crept closer and peered down at his sleeping features. And to his surprise, he actually looked somewhat peaceful. Rick noticed that while Daryl was conscious, he wore a constant scowl upon his rugged features. But now that his face was limp and relaxed, he looked like a totally different person. 

Despite the fact that Daryl's bruised face was half burrowed into the pillow, Rick could clearly see that his mouth was no longer tight, nor were his brows - which were usually furrowed. Breathing slowly, his back seemed to rise and fall in sync with his heavy inhales and exhales. It was clear he was out cold, and Rick assumed it must've been awhile since he's had a real sleep.

He thought the sleeping man looked content in a way, or maybe it just seemed that way because it was the softest expression he's ever seen him wear.

As for his wounds, they hadn’t gotten any better nor worse. They looked pretty much the same as yesterday. Daryl's face still appeared to look rather sore and weak, and probably caused him a fair amount of pain, but at least Rick knew that his cuts were clean and securely covered by bandages. With a little patience and perhaps a little hope, the dark purple splotches on the man's face should eventually fade.

Though, he'll probably never get to see Daryl's face without those bruises, nevermind see him ever again after he leaves.

"Daryl," Rick's hand hesitantly nudged the other man's shoulder. "Get up."

In mere seconds, bright blue irises were revealed when Daryl's eyes fluttered open. He suddenly seemed to have a feral look on his face when he awoke with a small gasp, and instantly flung himself upright to sit up. It was almost as if he was ready to throw fists as soon as he awoke - which he probably would've if it wasn't Rick who woke him.

The sudden movement made Rick jump. "Good Mornin’'." He said with a quiet voice, stepping back to give the other man some space.

He liked him more when he was asleep.

Daryl glanced around the sunlight filled living room with a slightly bewildered gaze. He brought a hand up to his wild locks and rubbed his forehead with a drowsy groan. It looked like he'd just realized where he was, as if he had forgotten. At least he didn't look like he was going to pound Rick's face in anymore.

Rick looked down at Daryl. "Want some breakfast?"

The man's eyes grew wide with sudden interest towards the offer. It was obvious he was starving, and the eager expression he wore reminded Rick of a hungry dog.

"I'll take that as a yes."

 

In the kitchen, Daryl sat patiently as Rick made him a sandwich.

Glancing over his shoulder occasionally, Rick took note how Daryl's long and muscular arms were splayed out on the island's dark surface. Just like his hands, his arms seemed to have various faded scars running down them. It just proved Rick's theory that he indeed worked with his hands a lot.

He dragged the sharp edge of the knife over the bread's spongy texture and cut it into two equal halves. Doing this reminded him of how he used to cut Carl's sandwiches when he was still a toddler. He never expected that he'd be doing the same thing for a full grown man who he barely knew.

Carefully placing the two slices on a plate, he turned to face Daryl.

"Here you are." Standing on the other side of the island, Rick slowly slid the plate over to where Daryl sat.

He watched closely as the man studied the sandwich. He seemed hesitant. His hands were balled tightly into fist's on the island's surface and his face appeared somewhat uncertain. Perhaps he didn't like sandwiches?

Before Rick could question it, he watched as Daryl's hands slowly slid towards the sandwich. Grabbing it, Rick watched as he lifted it to his lips before taking a large bite. After the first bite he began devouring it in seconds. He was gobbling the whole thing down like a starved wolf, which - Rick admitted to himself - seemed like an accurate comparison to make. He must've been starving. 

Rick watched in awe as he consumed the entire sandwich. And in less than two minutes, all that remained on the plane were mere crumbs.

"That was quick." He said with raised brows, extending a hand to collect the plate.

Daryl shrugged his broad shoulders with a grunt. Uncertain. "Was hungry."

Rick breathed a laugh. Of course he must've been hungry. "I can make you another one."

Daryl's eyes lit up at the question, and Rick didn't need him to speak - which he didn't - to already know what his answer was.

 

After Daryl had devoured the second sandwich, Lori awoke.

She dragged herself into the kitchen with an exhausted look in her eyes. Her long dark hair was wild from slumber, and her shoulders were slumped over as she scanned Rick and Daryl with a seemingly void expression. Her gaze - Rick noticed - was mostly fixated upon Daryl, however. It was obvious she wasn't thrilled about their 'guest' still being present.

Rick gulped. "Mornin'."

Lori met his gaze. "Morning." She replied sternly.

He could clearly see that Daryl was also anxious. His head was down, and his mouth was twisted with uncertainty once again. Rick assumed he could probably sense Lori wasn't thrilled about him staying here. Afterall, it was pretty obvious by the judgemental glares she sent in his direction.

The atmosphere felt unpleasant. He could almost taste the tenseness in the air. 

Quietly, Lori shuffled across the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. Rick could somehow feel that Daryl wanted to leave.

"So," The vocals of Lori suddenly broke the silence. She was leaning on the counter as she awaited her coffee. "Daryl, was it?"

Daryl's shoulders grew tense. "Mhm." His gaze cautiously lifted to meet the bright eyes of Lori's penetrating glare, his own eyes hidden behind dark strands of hair.

Rick felt his chest tighten. The aura surrounding the two felt heavy, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Rick told me that he found you in a ditch last night." Lori stated with a low voice, making it obvious she was trying to get under his skin. She grasped her mug and lifted it upwards to meet her lips before sipping at it tauntingly. It made Rick's gut wrench.

"Yeah." Single word. Bold, gruff voice. It was as if we was saying a million insults through just one simple answer. Rick knew he did this. It was a power Daryl had - saying one word that meant much, much more. He did it the night they met in the ditch, when Rick had asked if he had anywhere to stay.

After the answer had left his lips, no more words followed. Silence had fallen upon the kitchen, and Lori looked utterly pissed. Rick knew she didn't want this man in their house, and he was sure Daryl was aware as well. But despite that, he wouldn't allow his wife to presecute him.

"Daryl," Rick suddenly spoke up to break the dense silence, pushing himself off of the counter. "Why don't ya come with me?"

Daryl must've picked up on Rick's subtle attempt to escape the dreadful kitchen, because he stood almost instantly. Without needing to even open his mouth Rick could see the answer swirling in his narrowed eyes.

_ "Yes, take me away from this fuckin' kitchen." _

As the two awkwardly fled from the scene, Rick could feel Lori's penetrating glare stinging his backside as they vanished.

 

Now that they were back in the safety of the vast living room, Rick turned around to face Daryl. He was surprised when he didn't see two radiant eyes glaring back at him, but rather a turned head that was focused elsewhere. Daryl's interest seemed to be on the front door - the door that lead to the outside world. The world where Rick had found him in that ditch.

Daryl wanted to leave - to escape this foreign house and return to the life where he belonged. But what life did he belong to? Clearly not this one.

Seeing this, Rick let out a low breath. "You can leave, if you want." His words were gentle and quiet as he spoke, yet felt somewhat sad in a sense.

He didn't know why, but he didn't want to see Daryl go. Even though the plan was for him to just stay one night and leave in the morning, Rick found himself clinging to Daryl. He had brought him to shelter, cleaned him up, healed him, and fed him. He felt like this reckless man was now his responsibility. It was like letting go of a stray dog, in a sense.

Why was he feeling this way?

He was drug back to reality when he felt the ancient gaze that belonged to the one known as Daryl study him. 

"I should." Daryl's answer. Two words. Short, as always. But this time, he didn't look uncertain. His rugged features were cold and vacant, and Rick couldn't decipher what Daryl was feeling this time. His face was unreadable - vastly different from the uncomfortable expression he wore the majority of the time he spent here.

He could feel his chest sink inside his chest. It was true, Daryl wanted to go. "Are you sure?"

He watched as Daryl nodded. 

Inhaling, he sighed. "Alright, let me drive y-"

"Nah," The sudden gruff vocals of Daryl cut him off, which took him by surprise. "I can walk from here."

If he insists. "Alright."

Rick moved towards the door before gripping it's golden knob. His limbs felt weak with uncertainty, and for a moment he thought he wouldn't be able to open it. But of course, he did, and the bright morning light stung his eyes as the entrance to the outside world swung open.

It was like letting go of a stray dog.

Stepping outside first, Rick stood on stone material of the steps. It felt cold against his bare feet, and sent a shiver up his legs. Watching Daryl step outside, It was as if he had returned to his reality - a reality where he wasn't in a large house with a cop and his wife, but rather one that he was familiar with. One where he belonged.

Rick found himself wondering what that reality might look like.

Daryl stopped to stand beside him. "Thanks." A farewell, quiet and gruff, stoic eyes scanning Rick's face for possibly the last time.

Perhaps this man isn't all that is seen on the surface.

"Daryl," Rick turned to face him. He extended an arm to place upon his broad shoulder, and could clearly see the other man grow rigid under his touch. "I need to know some things about yesterday."

A look of confusion washed over Daryl's face, and Rick didn't blame him.

"I want to help you. As a person, not a cop." He spoke with low vocals, shuffling his feet anxiously beneath him. 

His grip on the other man's shoulder tightened, clenching the fabric of his tattered shirt. He almost couldn't get the question to leave his lips.

"Who hurt you?"

He watched as Daryl's eyes grew wide, a defensive scowl overtaking his rough features in mere moments. He expected this - he expected Daryl to be reluctant - but all he could do was try to get through to him, and somehow make him feel safe enough to give him a remote clue as to what had happened yesterday.

A bitter scoff left Daryl. "Noone, man." His tone was harsh as he snarled. He struggled to turn away and take his leave, but was restricted by the firm hand that laid upon his shoulder. 

Rick's ocean eyes were staring directly into Daryl's own - bold and unyielding. "It's obviously not noone, it was someone."

He could feel the other man thrash against him, obviously wanting to desperately escape his grasp. "Mind yer own fuckin' buisness." Another wall. A wall meant to keep Rick at bay. Yet, he kept trying to bust through it.

"Daryl, Daryl," Rick lifted his other hand to grip Daryl's other shoulder, struggling to keep him steady. "You gotta tell me. I need to know."

"Nah!"

With a sudden snarl leaving his thin lips, Daryl somehow managed to wriggle free of Rick's grasp and suddenly thudded his palms firmly against his chest with great force. Rick stumbled backwards at the sudden contact, and nearly lost his footing. The air in his lungs had been forced out of him, and for a moment he thought he couldn't breath.

Just what Rick was afraid of - a vicious outburst. It wasn't going to stop him from getting the answers he so desperately desired, though. Daryl was reluctant to answer, but perhaps the answer just needed to be forced out of him. It was definitely an unplanned approach, but it was the only option Rick seemed to have left. 

Daryl clumsily dashed down the stairs only to be pursued by Rick - who was trying to grab at him. The two sprinted out onto the front lawn, and somehow Rick had managed to catch up to him. With a strained grunt, he pounced at him, swiftly wrapping a single arm around Daryl's neck before gracelessly bringing him to the ground. Daryl, however, was thrashing viciously. His long legs pounded against the pruned lawn, as his arms desperately pulled against Rick's own in an attempt to free himself from the chokehold.

"Ay, chokehold's illegal!" Rick could hear Daryl choke out, his husky voice obviously filled with rage.

"Tell me, and I'll let you go." Rick panted. His voice was stern and unbreakable as he spoke - something officers have to learn to do if they want to be taken seriously.

Daryl's once violent breathing eventually gained a higher pitch, as if he was very slowly running out of the motivation to keep denying Rick. Which - to Rick's pleasure - was exactly what he had hoped for.

"C'mon, you don't have anywhere to go. Might as well tell me now." He huffed into Daryl's ear, continuing to apply pressure until he eventually felt the squirming cease in his grasp.

After a long pause, Daryl finally caved. 

"My - My brother," He confessed, rough voice slurred as he croaked out the words. "Me and my brother, we had a fight. It ain't nothin', it just happened."

Rick shuffled his feet, readjusting his harsh grip on Daryl. His brother? Rick guessed he didn't have a good relationship with him, considering the gruesome bruises he left on Daryl's throbbing face.

"Who's your brother?" Rick questioned.

A frustrated grunt sounded from Daryl. "Merle."

At that, Rick released him. He watched from above as Daryl instantly sank to the ground. He was desperately grabbing at his own throat as he gasped for air, and was laying face down on the lawn's grassy carpet with weak limbs.

"Merle... Dixon?" He muttered down at Daryl, blue eyes wide with shock.

Daryl forced out a strained cough as he glared up at Rick with a feral expression plastered upon his face. "Yeah, you fuckin' idiot."

Merle Dixon, the frequent inmate at Rick's department. A ruthless, careless, and vulgar man who spent the majority of his days being reckless and causing trouble for others, who always ended up back behind bars. Rick scratched at his scalp in confusion. Could it really be that Daryl was related to him? This whole time? The idea made his head spin.

Rick was hurled back into reality when Daryl had very slowly started to regain his footing. He was staggering, but he had once again met Rick's stature with a dangerous look on his face. Blades of grass stuck to the tattered - and still blood stained - fabric of his darkened shirt as well as his face and hair. It looked like he'd just been rolling around in grass - which was exactly what he was doing, but with Rick's arm enclosed around his neck.

"You... You know my brother?" Daryl breathlessly questioned Rick, brows still furrowed and scowl still very apparent on his slim lips as he restlessly shuffled from foot to foot.

Rick stared down at the ground for a brief moment before finding his voice to answer. "Yeah."

"Ah," Daryl's lengthy arms swung at his side. "Probably 'cause he's always in jail, right?"

He couldn't tell if Daryl's unexpectedly casual words were meant to be taken as a threat or a joke, but he breathed a laugh anyway. 

The tension between the two seemingly vanished in mere seconds when the corners of Daryl's lips quirked upwards. Rick wouldn't even consider it to be a smile, but rather a subtle look of amusement or perhaps pleasure. He didn't think Daryl was even physically capable of smiling.

But now there they stood, together, in the middle of the front lawn with messy hair and completely out of breath - laughing quietly to themselves about practically nothing.

Rick came to the conclusion that they had both realized that what they were doing was completely unethical - and to put it simply - stupid. It was a strange, yet warming feeling to know that the person beside you happened to be on the same page as you, even if that person was a bruised redneck who's brother was the one and only Merle Dixon.

Then, rain.

Just like that night they had met in the ditch.

 

Despite Rick insisting Daryl to stay another night due to the weather, he refused. 

"Nah," Daryl uttered with a low breath, clutching the bag Rick had given him tightly to his chest. "I'll be fine."

As a farewell gift, Rick had given him a medium-sized duffel bag full of extra supplies he thought might come in handy - after managing to convince Daryl to actually accept it, that is. It consisted of some of Rick's old clothes he never wore, as well as some snacks and other hopefully useful items that the man might put to use.

"You sure?" Rick questioned with a tilt of his head.

The man's mouth twisted as he gave a small nod. "Yeah."

The patter of rain seemed appropriate at this moment. Rick didn't know why, but the smell and aura of it seemed similar to Daryl. Similar in a way he honestly couldn't explain. Perhaps, it was because it just so happened to start raining that night in the ditch when he had first laid eyes on him.

With a sigh, Rick's gaze sank to the ground. A gloomy sensation clenched his insides, as his gut twisted into a knot of unexplainable emotions. He couldn't exactly put a name to what he was feeling, but Rick knew one thing - he was sad to see Daryl go. After everything they had experienced together, he felt a sense of loss. 

He wondered if Daryl felt the same way, but could never tell from those cold eyes of his.

"Well," Rick began, releasing an exhale. "Good luck."

Something seemed to spark in Daryl's ancient gaze, and before Rick could see what it was, a hand was extended towards him. Looking down at it, he was met with the scarred hand of Daryl Dixon reaching out to him. He was reaching out to touch him, or perhaps, just to shake his hand.

Rick lifted his own hand and firmly grasped Daryl's palm before shaking it lightly.

"Thanks." He heard Daryl utter in a quiet voice - quiet enough to be considered a whisper. This time it came off as sincere, unlike before when it came off as hesitant and uncertain.

He felt a gentle smile find it's way to his lips. 

"You're welcome."

With that, Rick watched from the gaping entrance of the front door as Daryl turned away. He traveled amongst the rain as if he was apart of it down the empty streets, and soon enough, disappeared from sight like he was never even there. He was no longer with him. His bruised face wasn't scowling at Rick any longer, and he felt a hole inside his chest. 

It was like letting go of a stray dog. It hurt, but it had to happen. 

Stray dogs don't belong indoors, afterall.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so here's chapter 3. c:
> 
> I hope everything doesn't come across as too confusing. But other than that, I think this chapter is pretty action filled and somewhat emotional. I apologize for the wait. ^^
> 
> [Also, small disclaimer: If it wasn't obvious, Rick made the decision to not bring Daryl's situation to the police because he felt solely responsible for him. Like he kinda wanted to be seen as more of a friend to Daryl, rather than just a cop who's trying to get him off of his back in hopes that Daryl could maybe let him help him.]
> 
> [Also, I’m aware it was actually Shane who put Daryl in a chokehold on the show, but I thought I’d try shaking things up a bit]
> 
> Stick around for the next chapter~


	4. His existence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Note : Carl is quiet young. Perhaps a little bit younger than he was in season one.]  
> Also, I apologize if there are any grammar errors. I didn't thoroughly review this chapter.

 

The next day, the house felt strangely empty.

Everything had appeared to return back to normal. An essentially perfect breakfast splayed out before Rick, Lori making coffee, and Carl chatting to him about something he didn't seem to have the energy to listen to. It was the ideal family morning. Any sane person would feel ecstatic to be apart of it - yet Rick found that his attention was elsewhere.

The ditch. The rain. The bruises. Those eyes.

Daryl Dixon.

Rick's chest had been knotted into a large ball of anxiety ever since the rugged man had left. He couldn't help but constantly think back to yesterday, when him and Daryl had said their goodbyes and parted ways beneath the unrelenting wrath of the cold rain. He wondered where he was now, or what he was doing. There was no way of knowing, but he desperately hoped he was okay.

With a large sigh, Rick trailed a cold hand down the ridges of his face.

He then turned to study his wife as she prepared coffee.

Lori had made it abundantly clear to him that she was pleased to see Daryl go, which didn't shock Rick in the least - considering the attitude she had towards him the entirety of the time he was here. But despite that, Rick was infuriated with her. She never seemed to grasp the concept of why he had helped Daryl. She didn't understand the idea of assisting someone out of pure kindness. She only saw Daryl as a waste of space, and that was what made Rick mad.

"Dad?" The small voice of Carl had drug him back to reality. 

"Mhm?" Rick suddenly hummed, meeting the large blue eyes that stared up at him questioningly.

"Was there somebody here last night?" Carl asked, innocent as always. "I thought I heard you and Mom talking to someone when I was going to sleep."

Rick's gaze faltered. "Uh, Yeah. Somethin' like that." 

As soon as the words had left him, he could feel the harsh gaze of Lori boiling into the back of his head. 

"Who?" Carl pushed onwards, his head tilting as he shuffled eagerly in his chair.

Rick huffed. Turning his gaze back to his son, he ruffled his soft brown locks with a single hand. "Noone. You don't need to worry about it, okay?"

He watched as Carl's once hopeful expression melted into one of adorable disappointment. "Aww, fine."

 

After breakfast, Rick left for work without saying goodbye to Lori.

The overwhelming tension between himself and his wife was temporarily relieved as he drove, despite knowing he was going to have to face it at one point. He groaned to himself as he clenched the material of the steering wheel. He dreaded the looming argument that was destined to occur. It made his chest tighten and his palms sweat. Not in fear, but rage.

The horrid mess of dirt and blood that had been left behind by Daryl still lingered in the passenger seat. Peering down at it, it only reminded Rick of the anxiety he felt for the man - the uneasy feeling that stung his organs in fear that something terrible could potentially happen to him. What would Rick do if something were to happen? What _could_ he do? There was no way of knowing where Daryl even was, nor where he could be found, so Rick was stuck - unable to help in any way.

Perhaps he should just stop trying to help so often.

Rick had stopped to examine the revolting ditch which he had found Daryl in, and was welcomed by the rain soaked and bloodied tarp - which the man had been bundled in -sprawled out on the dampened grass. Seeing the tarp reassured him that it wasn't all a dream - that everything had really occurred, and that Daryl Dixon really existed. Yet, it also left him feeling hopeless, knowing that the man hadn't returned to his place in the garbage riddled ditch. It made Rick realize that ultimately, Daryl was nowhere to be found.

When he had arrived at the station, he didn't bother explaining all that had happened over the weekend to Shane.

Together they sat in the small kitchen that was connected to the bland office in which they worked, and simply drank coffee. It was a ritual at this point. Every morning, Shane and Rick met at the small kitchen table and lazily sipped at their mugs. Sometimes they conversed, other times they remained silent. This time, Shane was blabbering about his seemingly exuberant weekend.

"Man, I got so shit-face this weekend," His partner snickered with hoarse vocals, dark eyes locked with Rick's as he leaned back in his chair with a mug in hand. "I went to a club and goddamn, you wouldn't believe how many hot chicks were there. You should of seen it, man!"

Rick simply rolled his eyes with a small smile towards his partner's remarks. Shane was always this way - trying to convince Rick to tag along with him on his weekend adventures."Pfft - Nah, I don't think Lori would take too that lightly." Rick responded.

Shane's laughter seemed to die down slightly. "Yeah. How is Lori anyway?"

Stomach tensing, he allowed his gaze to drift off slightly as he struggled to come up with an answer to Shane's sudden question.

"Ah, not great." Rick sighed, lungs deflating. "She's been weird lately, ya know? Just been gettin' on my nerves I guess."

He watched as Shane's head pursued a slow nodding motion. "Yeah, yeah, I know what ya mean." He spoke with a much more even tone, sipping at his coffee.

 

After hours of mindless and dreadful work, Rick was drawn from the captivity of his office when the familiar bellowing of Merle Dixon entered the building.

Usually, Rick wouldn't see this as any sort of distraction - but simply a routine disturbance that is guaranteed to eventually silence. Shane obviously paid it no mind, but ever since learning the fact that the monster was actually Daryl's own brother, Rick saw things slightly differently. He wondered if he could question Merle. Perhaps he could ask him what had happened between himself and Daryl. Then again, this was _Merle Dixon_. A ruthless drug dealer and user that was seen as a nuisance by the entire department.

Well, It couldn't hurt to try.

Sighing to himself, Rick cautiously traveled towards the main entrance where Merle was guaranteed to be. 

To his surprise, the man wasn't vigorously thrashing around on the ground in cuffs as expected - but rather already in the drunk tank. Rick figured officers must have already disposed of him. Contemplating for a brief moment, he began his journey to the back - where the drunk tank was, and where Merle would surely be.

Thankfully, it seemed to be empty as Rick peered through the dirtied glass and into the bland and rather small room. Despite the two benches which clung to the dirtied wall, the room was completely devoid of any inmates - expect for a hunched over figure that was identified as Rick's suspect. 

He could clearly see that Merle wasn't in the best condition - not that he ever. His bare arms appeared to be riddled with dark bruises, as well as his face. A trail of blood traveled down his thin lips from a single nostril, as well as from the corner of his mouth. 

Rick thought the bruises looked rather similar to Daryl's own. 

He thought back to when he had successful managed to pry the truth from Daryl's lips after an ungraceful battle out on his front lawn, and remembered what he had said. 

_ "Me and my brother, we had a fight. It ain't nothin', it just happened." _

Rick squinted. 

Perhaps the display of hurt upon Merle's face and limbs was the aftermath of their fight. Actually, now that he thought back to it, Daryl's wounds appeared much worse that his brother's own, which lead Rick to assume that Merle must've landed more punches than he received. 

He wondered if they were really even brothers? Did siblings really treat each other so harshly - even going so far as hurting one another to that extent? Despite not growing up with the company of other siblings, Rick thought not. 

He had moved towards the drunk tank's door, and placed a firm hand against the cold, solid surface it.

It was now or never. He had to talk to Merle. There had to be more explanation as to why the man who Rick had found in the ditch had even ended up there in the first place.

With a shaky breath, Rick pushed open the entrance and made his way inside. Upon his intrusion, he watched as Merle nearly jumped to the roof. With wild eyes, he instantly pursued a defensive stance - as if he was ready to throw hands at the first sight of possible danger. 

The Dixon brothers definitely had that in common.

"The fuck are you doin' in 'ere, pig?!" The man snarled with furrowed brows and a crinkled nose. 

It was obvious Merle was still pretty drunk according to the reek of alcohol and the slur of his voice - why else would he be in the drunk tank. Nonetheless, Rick was ready to continue pushing forwards.

A hand was lifted upwards to gesture towards the man's bruises. "I see you're pretty bruised up," Rick began, careful not to provoke the man in any way. "How'd it happen?"

An immediate scoff fled from Merle's thin lips as soon as the question was asked. "None of yer' damn business, ya fuckin' pig." He sneered at Rick, voice rugged and hoarse as a toothy grin splayed itself upon his tattered jaw.

Despite the snarky response, Rick's bright blue glare remained unbroken. "I know your brother," He suddenly began with a sly raise of his brows. "Daryl Dixon?"

The fact that Rick had knowledge of his own flesh and blood appeared to peak Merle's interest. Fists cautiously lowering, his thin lips twitched skeptically towards the cop's unexpected remark. "How you know my brother?"

Gaze aimlessly drifting across the unpleasantly dirty floor, Rick casually began to stroll towards Merle, cautious to appear somewhat non-threatening as he did so. "I found him in a ditch." The words left him rather bluntly, and he lifted his eyes back to the man.

Rick almost didn't catch it, but a look of guilt seemed to shine through the tough expression Merle wore. His thin brows appeared to knit upwards ever so slightly to reveal a valuable side to his usually impenetrable wall of sarcasm and fists. 

So, he _did_ have a soft side for his brother.

"Don't' worry though," Rick reassured. "He's okay."

A low breath left Merle. "Well, goddamn officer friendly," He said with a cocky tone laced within his husky voice, running a worn hand through thinning hair. "I am just touched, truly, I am. But, why should I give a fuck if you know my lil' brother? Huh? The whole police department probably knows us." 

"He was hurt," Rick spoke questioningly. "Don't you care?"

The man snorted, his dry laughter engulfing the small room's interior. "That's his own damn business, not mine. He's the one who drug his sorry ass over to that ditch." He leaned back casually. "My lil' brother aint' no pussy, officer friendly. He can take care of this fuckin' self without the help of a fuckin' pig, like you."

It was apparent to Rick that Merle was certainly the more vocal one out of the two brothers, unlike Daryl who seemed to prefer to keep his mouth sealed. It also seemed as if Merle was the so called 'alpha' of their relationship, which seemed reasonable considering how arrogant the man was. But despite that, Merle seemed to have faith in his brother - a mutual understanding that they were both survivors, in a sense. Rick saw that they didn't need each other. Yet at the same time, there were all one another had.

Rick sighed. "Do you know where Daryl might be?"

He didn't have to ask this question, and he probably shouldn't have. The answer would prove to be useless information to Rick. Yet, he had the urge to - deep within his chest, like a compass pulling him towards the idea that Daryl Dixon might actually exist, and that those bruised, hooded eyes could be found once again. Or perhaps, he just wanted to make sure he was okay.

Once again, a mocking laugh. "Fuckin' neverland."

Chest deflating, Rick didn't need to be told twice. He knew he couldn't get any more information out of the redneck, and saw the snarky answer as his que to leave. He got enough answers, though. Enough to know that other than his brother, noone was thinking about Daryl. 

Though, Rick seemed to be.

 

Like usual, the rest of the day went by painfully slow. Shane and him had gone out for burgers at lunch, but other than that, the entire day was blurred together to create one foggy haze. 

On his way home, he stopped by the ditch again. Nothing.

Rick didn't bother to announce his arrival as he peeled off his coat. He lazily kicked off his dirtied shoes before creeping further into his house, as if he was unwelcomed there. Which, he was, in a sense. Lori and him hadn't spoken to each other all day, and Rick had already foretold there would eventually be a confrontation between the two. 

"How was work?" The sudden question startled Rick, and he whirled his head around to find Lori leaning on the counter in the kitchen. It was apparent by the cross of her arms and the coldness in her eyes that she had been awaiting his return. 

Rick slowly approached. "Fine." They stood across each other, their gazes boring into one another's sockets. The overwhelming tension between them was indeed heavy, as if it was beaming against the front of Rick's body and face, urging him to challenge his own wife.

"You didn't happen to see that 'Daryl' character again, did you?" Lori questioned, obvious bitterness in her words.

A burning heat sparked in Rick's chest. "No."

She nodded, though Rick knew she wasn't convinced. "Ah okay," She began, pushing herself off of the counter to stroll over to Rick. "I just wouldn't want him to come back, is all." The utter bluntness of her voice stabbed Rick directly in the chest.

He frowned and his brows dropped. "Why not?" He asked, vocals low and stoic as he spoke.

Lori was now within reaching distance of Rick, and placed two pale hands upon his chest. 

_ "Because he doesn't belong here." _

Gripping her hands, Rick harshly pried them his chest. "What the hell do you mean?" He snarled, blue eyes wide in displeasure and betrayal. "You don't know anythin’ about him!"

"I know that he's probably a criminal!" Lori began, returning the same amount of loud anger she had received from Rick. "He was beaten to the bone, for christ sake! He would've hurt Carl!"

Rick scoffed. "You don't know that! The only reason you wanted to get rid of him was because he got in the way of this perfect life we live!"

She scowled at Rick. He saw that her own features were twisted into a knot of utter rage as well, identical to his own. "I wanted to get rid of him _because he doesn't belong here!"_

Rick felt as if he was about to snap. Lori's last cutting retort has stabbed him directly in the chest, causing his stomach to boil and his fists to ache from clenching so hard. He drew in a long, thoughtful inhale in preparation to retaliate, but was stopped when a weak voice presented itself from the gaping entrance of the kitchen. 

"Mom? Dad?"

There Carl stood, small and delicate within the loose fabric of his printed pajamas clenched nervously in his tiny fists. His freckled cheeks soaked with tears, Rick watched as he stifled an oncoming sob. In this current moment, both him and Lori were frozen - unable to move as the image of a scared, confused boy presented itself to them. 

"W-Why are you guys yelling?" Rick felt his heart collapse at the pure vulnerability of Carl's words.      

"No, no," He heard Lori manage from beside him, sounding just as broken as him. He watched as she moved over to comfort Carl, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burrowing his face into the warmth of her chest. "We aren't. We - Lets take you back to bed, alright?"

Carl managed a nod. And with that, Lori lovingly swooped the young boy into her arms and made her way to return him back to the safety of his bed. Meanwhile, Rick stood alone with large eyes and loose fists. He hadn't realized how loud he had been until the softness of Carl's questioning voice reached his ears. 

Sighing in utter defeat, he glanced around the now devoid kitchen. It was just him. It was already dark outside, he realized. Perhaps he should seek slumber not in his bed with Lori - but rather on the couch. He assumed it would be best, afterall. 

He exited the kitchen and crept into the darkened living room that was also, not surprisingly, empty. His gaze lowered to study the couch's soft material, and couldn't help but think back to when it was inhabited by the man known as Daryl. Rick hummed as he realized it hadn't been slept on since the man's visit, as the pillow and blanket where still splayed out on it. 

It felt strange, nestling into the nest of tangled blankets that had been created by Daryl. Rick felt as if he was intruding, or ruining some sort of artifact that proved the man's existence. Rick wanted to maintain any proof that he existed. If he failed to do so, he felt as if Daryl might truly disappear. Though, he already has. Disappeared from Rick's life, that is.

Eventually, he fell into a deep slumber with the image of Daryl's bruised face projected on the interior of his eyelids. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, CHAPTER FOUR!!
> 
> I apologize for kinda abandoning this story for a bit. I had lots of stuff to deal with, but now I'm gonna try and be more frequent with the chapters. ;w; <3  
> All feedback is appreciated, thank you all very much!


	5. The magnet residing in his chest

Rick was greeted by the stabbing pain of a sore back the following morning.

Once again, he didn't bother saying goodbye to Lori when he left. He couldn't even recall getting a glimpse of her throughout the morning. Perhaps she was avoiding him, which seemed like an ethical and very likely assumption considering the events of last night. Despite everything, Rick was sure to give Carl a tight hug before departing for work.

As he drove, he stopped by the ditch again. Nothing.

The very first thing he did when he pushed open the department's heavy glass doors was travel to the back where the drunk tank was located. The small room appeared dirty and constrictive as always, and held a few inmates - who must've been arrested when he was off-duty - scattered throughout it's interior. Some were sleeping on or under benches, others were simply sitting, and one was even pacing aimlessly in the middle of the grimy room. However, there was no sight of Merle.

Rick assumed he must've been released early this morning. The man often only stayed for a single night before being granted freedom, anyway. However, it was often only temporary considering Merle was always being drug back, often intoxicated and high and bellowing vulgar insults. But nonetheless, he was gone, and Rick felt a gaping hole burrow into his chest.

He wondered if Merle would attempt to look for his brother upon his release. Rick could recall the man was rather blunt the other day when expressing his lack of care when it came to Daryl's location, but yet, he had also revealed slight empathy for his little brother. All in all, it was a mystery what Merle would decide to do with his freedom. He could easily search for Daryl just as easily as he could drag himself onto a bar stool and await his next visit to the drunk tank.

Rick could feel his heart slowly sink in his chest as he studied the depressed room that lacked Merle's presence. He almost felt sick knowing that Daryl could easily be a lifeless body in some alley way, or perhaps on the side of some road - in some ditch and under some tarp.

He knew he had to let go of his anxiety concerning the man's safety, but something in his stomach wouldn't let him. Perhaps it would just take time for him to move on, or maybe even something to distract him from the feral entity known as Daryl.

After all, the only thing Rick knew about him was his name. So ultimately, 'Daryl' was just a complete stranger he had had a short encounter with.

Taking a final glimpse of the unfamiliar faces that roamed the bleak drunk tank, Rick left to meet Shane in the small kitchen that clung to their office for some morning coffee.

 

"So, I found this new bar," Shane began with a smirk as they both took their designated positions at the kitchen's rounded table. "And lemme tell ya, it's pretty damn awesome. It's got tons of cool drinks, and some fine ass chicks that you would totally love, man. You should think about comin'."

Rick crossed his legs and leaned back in his creaky chair. He was already prepared to decline his partner's offer. Excuses were swimming in his head and piling up on his tongue, ready to be said when he found that he was actually beginning to consider the idea of going.

With an angry Lori at home, and 'that stranger' constantly vexing his thoughts, Rick thought escaping to a lively bar for a few hours sounded like a splendid way to shrug off the stress. Besides, it had been weeks since he had actually done something remotely fun with his beloved partner and friend.

A smile found its way to his lips. "You know what," Rick leaned forward to grasp his mug from the table's corner. "I'll come for once."

Rick could see the surprise in Shane's darkened eyes. "Really?" He said, obviously not expecting the answer he had received. "I thought you would've said no."

"Well, It's been awhile since I've gone out. Besides, we can get shit-faced together this time."

Shane laughed at that. Rick thought his partner resembled an excited dog in that moment as he recklessly reached across the table to give Rick a rough slap of the shoulder. "Hell yeah man! It's gonna be fuckin' awesome!"

Rick laughed with him. And together, they took the time to savour the rest of their coffee before dragging themselves back into their dreadful office to work.

 

He was reluctant to, but Rick was sure to shoot Lori a brief text before leaving work to go drink with Shane.

_Gonna go drink with Shane for a bit. Should be back home later._

It wasn't like he wanted to, but he knew he had to. If he were to arrive home late in a drunken state, he knew Lori wouldn't take it remotely lightly. He'd probably be forced to go sleep out on the damn lawn if he were to do that.

Rick tucked his phone snuggly into his back pocket with a sigh before following Shane out of the building to cross the devoid parking lot. The sky had already shifted into a darker hue, and everyone had gone home for the day. There was only him and Shane - but Rick was certain it wouldn't remain that way for long. After all, bars tended to be rather crowded at this time of night.

Together, they climbed into Shane's truck as it revved to life. Rick leaned against the cool surface of his window and allowed his eyes - along with his mind - to aimlessly wonder, searching for something to latch onto.

The sloshing of beer, the flashing of lights, the smiles of women - it was all what he was expecting. The majority of the clubs and bars he has been drug too by his partner all had these things, yet Rick found himself feeling anxious. The twist in his gut told him it was forbidden to go out - for him to distract himself from his raging wife awaiting him at home. It was as if it was unprofessional for him to have some fun for once instead of drowning in stress and worry.

Sighing quietly, he wondered if perhaps these thoughts had been manifested not by him - but rather by Lori. Nonetheless, he tried to ignore it in hopes it wouldn't ruin his potentially amazing night.

And to Rick's pleasure, they arrived quicker than expected.

"Here it is." Shane announced from the driver's seat with a large smile smeared across his face. He had parked rather close to the building, and the flashing neon sign which hung above the bar's entrance seemed to illuminate his grinning features.

Rick thought the sign's vibrant flickering gave off an energetic vibe, and soon found that excitement had begun bubbling in his own chest. Despite previously drowning in the feeling of anxiety, his mood had elevated when the idea of going out had become a reality. The bar was here, and so was Rick, and he couldn't help but feel eager to go inside.

A smile overtook his face. "Well then, lets go."

Climbing out of the truck, Rick awaited Shane to join him before strolling towards the seemingly lively entrance. A mixture of bouncers and people stumbling around in an drunken state clustered around the door, bellowing with wild laughter and sharing one another's cigarettes in a happy haze. It seemed to put a small grin on Ricks own face, as the two elbowed their way through the bustling crowd.

The interior looked exactly as Rick had expected - a typical Georgia bar. Barstools, tables, neon signs, and of course - beautiful women. Rick wasn't looking to mess around with any of these women. He was still married after all, and was dedicated to being a faithful husband. However, it was still nice to feel young again - to feel as if he was free to do whatever his heart desired. And at that moment, his heart desired a drink.

Venturing in further, Shane and Rick took their seats at the bar and ordered themselves some shots to kick off the night.

"S'cuse me, me and my buddy would like some whiskey shots!" Shane announced from beside Rick, waving a single hand towards a seemingly annoyed bartender with a wide grin.

The place was indeed busy, Rick realized. He could barely see the floor's surface it was so crowded. He watched as people drunkenly danced into one another, spilling their drinks and tumbling around like ragdolls all while they smiled and laughed. It looked like a giant pit of clumsy toddlers from Rick's place at the bar, and he couldn't help but snicker.

Everything seemed right in that moment. The blaring rattle of country music, the permanent aroma of sweet alcohol, it was all precisely correct - like it had been drug straight out of some movie and was slapped into Rick's reality.

And all in all, it felt good. He couldn't rack his brain for any other words to describe the excited tingle in his gut, But it felt good. And soon enough, he was handed his shot.

Together, him and Shane clenched onto the small cups before whipping them backwards into their mouths. The burning sting of whiskey clawed down his esophagus and soon pooled in the bottom of his stomach. It felt like tiny knives had gone down his throat as it throbbed, and he hissed at the pain. Yet, all at once, it felt so very good. The flavour and the coolness of the alcohol seemed to wrap the night's start into a tight bundle of perfection.

He had a hunch that this night would be good.

 

After the first few shots, Rick lost all grasp of reality.

Before he knew it, him and Shane were tumbling and spinning amongst the equally drunken crowd with goofy grins plastered upon their faces. Rick had toppled into groups of people numerous times, only to be drug back by Shane's grasp once again to resume their drunken waltz together. They had danced and danced until Rick couldn't any longer. He felt as if his legs would literally depart from his body and flee if he were to continue clumsily strutting around in a foggy haze. He was drowning in sweat, and felt hot and sticky. But despite that, he mostly felt alive.

It was nice, he could admit - not having a care in the world as he toppled and tumbled around in a sea full of unfamiliar faces. He didn't care what strangers thought of him as he and his partner pranced on tables and chairs (something they attempted before being threatened to be kicked out by the bartender) and he certainly didn't care what Lori thought. At least, not in this state, anyway.

But now - body limp and chest heaving - Rick found himself limp at a booth across from his partner, who had two gorgeous women tucked beneath his arms. He listened as Shane skillfully told one of many stories of their cop adventures, entrancing the women into a charming facade that would be later used to lure them into bed. Rick knew Shane's routine when impressing women, and watched in silence as he slyly reeled them in.

"And then, I grabbed him by the hand and pushed him to the ground. You should've seen that sucker! He was wrigglin' around like a damn baby!" Shane explained from his place in the booth, howling with laughter along with the two women. "He was pleadin' me not to haul his ass off jail, but he was sellin' crack for god sakes!"

The two women shook with laughter. Their pearly white smiles beamed up at Shane as they clung tighter to his torso, rubbing against him like dogs in heat.

"Wow! That's awesome! I can't believe you're really a police officer!" One of them chirped, placing a perfectly pedicured hand on his chest.

Shane smiled. "Oh yes, darlin', indeed I am. My man Rick over there is also a cop." He gestured towards Rick's slumped over figure and sneered.

Scrambling to pursue an actual sitting position, Rick coughed awkwardly into a balled fist. He knew exactly what his partner's intentions were. Any time they went out, Shane cleverly tried to get Rick with a woman. Any woman would do - as long as Shane lead them to believe he was a brave, interesting cop that was looking for a one night stand. Which was partially true, expect for the last part.

Before Rick could retort, one of the women suddenly spoke. "Really?" She purred before casually prying herself from Shane's grasp. "Two cops? How exciting."

She slowly crept towards him before sitting next to him, snuggling into his side shamelessly. Rick, at this point, struggled to distance himself from the stranger. He tried to focus on something else - anything else. The tinkering of glass from the crowded bar, the blaring of music overhead, the racket of laughter and conversation from all around him. Despite his senses desperately clinging to these things, he couldn't ignore the warmth of a beautiful woman beside him.

"So, Mr. Rick, do you think I'm pretty?" The woman suddenly spoke with a wide smile. Her eyes appeared to hold only innocence, and Rick could already see it was all just an act she was portraying - just like Shane was. He guessed everyone pretended to be someone else when luring prey into bed.

Rick shifted against her. "Uh- yes, I think you are pretty." He could feel Shane's amused gaze burning against the side of his face from across the booth's table.

She giggled, obviously pleased by Rick's answer. He felt her sink closer into him.

"Then how about you take me somewhere we can be alone?" The words were mere whispers as they forced their way into Rick's mind, lingering there - taunting him and tickling his brain.

He felt sick and mad - mad at Shane for putting him in this position, and disgusted by the lewd image the woman had registered in his mind. The bar's constant sounds blurred together in a haze as his stomach clenched. Maybe it was because he was drunk, but he didn't even feel that drunk - not anymore. He yearned to be somewhere else. He didn't want to be here any longer, not with Shane and definitely not with this woman.

He thought of Lori. He wondered what she would say if she were to see him like this - trapped against another woman who was obviously trying to get with him. He had a feeling she wouldn't say anything, but rather remain silent so Rick could feel the overwhelming burden of regret upon his shoulders. She was clever in that way, he knew. Lori knew how to manipulate his emotions and twist them into a tight ball that he couldn't unwound.

And what about little Carl? What would happen if he saw his own father like this - sweaty and half-drunk beside another woman who wasn't his mother? Rick felt his chest clench and ache at the thought, and that's when he finally snapped back into reality.

The question still lingered on the woman's plump lips, and Rick saw Shane's eager features from the corner of his eye. He hadn't responded to her proposal yet, and found himself staring out into the crowd of drunken dancers. But finally, he came up with an answer.

"No," Simple. Blunt. "I'm married."

He saw a glimpse of surprise on their faces before squeezing past the woman's flirtatious touch and towards the bar's doors. He ignored Shane’s voice calling him as he shoved his way through the bustling swarm of drunks, elbowing and pushing until he reached the outside world. The sensation of fresh air rushing against his sweaty face when he opened the doors caused a sigh of relief to leave his lips.

Rick felt as if he had just escaped a whole other reality - one where the music was loud, the air was constricting, and the people were in a constant haze of bliss - and had reached earth once again. He no longer liked that world, he realized. He didn't want to be in there any longer - where he's forced to decline women's proposals under the watchful eye of Shane. It wasn't what he wanted. But now, he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted.

The outside air felt cool against his bare skin, as if it was a chilly sheet that had been laid against him.  He sank deeper into the vast yet darkened parking lot that connected itself to the bar and stared up at the sky. It was an endless ocean of darkness, and the stars which floated within it looked like glistening cookie cutter designs. It was rare to see the night sky like this so close to the city, but tonight it seemed to display itself for those who dwelled below it to see, and Rick couldn't help but feel touched.

He took in a deep breath, then released it. The stillness of the night - despite still being able to hear the music which played from the bar - calmed Rick. It made him feel as if the rest of the world had froze, and time no longer urged him to move forwards. It was unmoving, and utterly wonderful. His eyes slid close. The drunken haze he had previously been in was no longer, and he was now stone-cold sober.

He envisioned his bed, along with Lori sleeping in it. He wondered if he would be welcomed within its sheets considering the tension that still lingered. He thought back to the endless arguments and pointless fights him and Lori have had recently, and to Rick, their marriage no longer seemed to have that spark of joy and excitement it used to, but was now rather dull and bitter. Perhaps it temporary, or maybe it's been that way since the beginning, and they just haven't realized it until now. But nonetheless, it made Rick question everything.

It was strange, because in this current moment, he felt free. He hadn't felt freedom in a long time. Hell, he didn't even know if this - standing in a bar's parking lot at midnight - was even considered freedom. But he knew that with Lori, this feeling was never present. The very last time he had felt the sensation of freedom tickle his organs and caress his lungs was when he had gone off his designated path, and had taken in that 'stranger'.

That stranger. His name is Daryl. Rick can't forget that. He wanted to forget Daryl's existence at one point in hopes things would be better, but now he thinks he wants to keep it in his memory.

Standing there in the parking lot, he hadn't realized how deep in thought he had been until the distant sound of a presumably tense conversation reached his ears. He turned to look in the direction of the sudden noise, and saw four distant figures huddled together at the other end of the parking lot. The area they seemed to be stationed in was a lot more devoid, and had even fewer cars compared to where Rick was.

Rick listened to their voices rise, and could already tell that they were having some kind of argument. One man in particular was much louder than the rest, wailing and yelling insults at the other two. He couldn't hear the context in which the insults were said, but didn't need to.

It definitely wasn't unlikely for fights to occur near or sometimes inside bars, but rather, it was actually somewhat common. Rick knew this for a fact, considering the numerous times he's had to stop these kind of fights from happening while on duty with Shane. Thankfully, they were never anything serious, but were rather just a ridiculous waste of time that resulted in some people being drug off to the drunk tank for the night.

The yelling continued, and pretty soon, all four of them had begun hollering at one another. At this point, their enraged bellows had molded into a mess of mangled, angry voices that Rick couldn't decipher. He watched with squinted eyes as more movement began to stir, and soon enough, a punch was thrown.

At that, Rick's legs took off beneath him. He ran, not away from the commotion, but towards it. The urge to stop crime was strong in his veins, as well as the impulse to do good - which had been burrowed deep within his chest ever since he was a kid. He didn't know why, and he didn't dare question it, but it was as if an unseen magnet drug him to stop the confrontation - to prevent any harm from inflicting anyone, no matter how much they may not deserve it. And besides, he was a cop, after all. It was his purpose.

He pondered the idea of informing Shane on the situation, but decided against it. Their last 'encounter' had been mere minutes ago, and Rick repelled at the idea of heading back into the crowded bar only to drag him outside to deal with some drunken thugs. He refused to go back to that world. So, he was going to deal with this on his own. It's just a drunken fistfight, anyways. Nothing Rick hasn't seen before, nevermind had to stop before.  

By the time he had arrived, the small fight had accumulated into a full fledged brawl. Through the darkness, Rick could see it was two against two, and not a single one of them hesitated when jabbing their fists into one another. He thought the gruesome scene before him resembled that of animals - snarling and grunting while using all their strength to take their opposer down. He couldn't see much of anything through the night's layer of darkness, but the bar's flickering sign provided some assistance.

"Hey!" The single word left Rick's mouth in the form of a demanding yell. "Stop that right now!"

He struggled to intervene, prying an arm between two of the figures who latched onto one another. However, Rick's efforts were practically useless when one of them managed to free an arm and slam a fist into the other's face. Rick heard a pained grunt cut though the darkness before the figure that had been punched fell from view. And with that, everything seemed to stop.

The opposing figures lowered their balled fists immediately after the other dropped. Rick - no longer in need of preventing anymore conflict - stood in awe, just as surprised as they seemed to be. It was as if the man who had just been knocked to the ground had been the center of the battle, and now that he was supposedly unconscious, there was nothing to fight for. At least, that's what Rick assumed, based upon the reactions of those that surrounded him.

"C'mon," Rick heard one of them say, "That asshole is done for."

Rick watched with wide eyes as the two left. They must've not noticed his presence, or either didn't care, because they fled from the scene with such casual strides, seemingly unconcerned that Rick had just been a witness. With a low breath, he dusted off his shirt and turned his attention to the remaining figure - the one who wasn't unconscious.

There were four figures to start with. It was two against two, and Rick had just witnessed who had obviously claimed the win, and who had claimed the loss. This pair, that was now down to one - the other unconscious and drooling on the parking lot's dirty surface - was the losing team, and Rick didn't spare a moment before striding up to the remaining figure and confronting them.

"Care to explain what just happened?" Rick questioned the man right off the bat, sternness laced within his words.

He couldn't see the other's features through the dense darkness, nor what clothes they wore, but he could clearly see that this individual appeared to be approximately the same height as Rick. The low weezing that reached his ears when the others chest fell and rose also proved that they were fairly beaten. However, no words left them. Not one.

"You and your buddy here could be in some serious trouble if you don't come clean. I'm a police officer with the Atlanta Police Department and I--"

"I ain't tellin' you nothin'."

A sudden response. Blunt. Harsh. Raspy.

Rick's felt his chest suddenly clench and his eyes widen.

That voice.  _His_  voice. Rick felt an unexpected warmth engulf his organs, and a weight form within his gut. He couldn't forget. It was impossible. Those nasty words, that lengthy hair, those beaten features only belonged to that of one creature, and nobody else.

"Daryl?"

Maybe it was the heavens above carving Rick's path, or perhaps it was pure luck, but he had found him again. In the middle of the night, in a parking lot of a shitty bar with the faint hum of shitty music in the background, he had found him once again. The one known as Daryl had left to roam this earth, and Rick had finally returned to him. He didn't know then, but he does now - he knows that the magnet in his chest had forced him in the man's direction. Perhaps Daryl has a magnet residing in his chest, too.

He heard a small gasp through the darkness. He must have realized as well.

"Rick?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger! Hahaha
> 
> I hope this chapter makes sense, since I find it difficult to write fighting/action scenes. But overall, things are finally starting to heat up, and Rick and Daryl are guaranteed to see each other a lot more after this!
> 
> I really appreciate all the kudos and comments!! Thank you all so much!


	6. The rain's watchful eye

 

After the low hum of Daryl's voice had cut through the blanket of darkness, everything fell silent. The world itself froze as Rick's big blue eyes stared at the darkened silhouette of a beaten face before him. 

Everything was so foggy in this moment, yet all at the same time, so very vivid. The metallic stench of blood stung his nostrils, and the cold air that no longer comforted him stabbed at his bare arms. But over everything, Daryl's voice was the most surreal - lingering in Rick's mind like an oasis rising from a sandy wasteland. He clung to it, and didn't let go.

So, together, there they stood - in the middle of a vast and darkened parking lot with an unconscious, and most likely drunk, Merle sprawled out on the dirtied ground. The faint melody of country music continued to sound from the bar, and the neon sign that casted light upon the two of them resumed to flicker. He could barely see it, but Rick could tell that Daryl's bruises still hadn't faded - but had rather multiplied. It caused a boulder of worry to weigh in his gut.

"Is your brother okay?" He somehow managed after a momentary silence - a silence in which he had used to study Daryl. He peered down at Merle, and watched as Daryl did the same.

"He'll be fine." He could hear the man sigh, voice low and rough as always. He missed that voice.

Rick watched as Daryl moved closer to his fallen brother, and said nothing when he simply glared down at the man's unconscious - and honestly, unflattering - features. Merle's face was tough, and had wrinkles that resembled creases running in all directions, as if they were cracks in a desert's surface. Alike, yet completely different, to that of Daryl's own face, Rick noticed.

He felt his chest tighten. "I thought you and your brother were fighting?"

For a moment, Rick was certain his question would go unanswered when no words left Daryl's cut lips. But eventually, a quiet, blunt, and somewhat reluctant answer was given.

"Nah," He felt Daryl's gaze on him, "Shit happens."

Shit happens.

"How about you?" he then asked, "You're pretty bruised up."

Rick could hear Daryl hesitate through the darkness, and watched as his broad shoulders lifted in the form of a shrug. No answer. Rick somehow expected that.

Rick sighed. "How about I take you to the hospital-"

"Nah, no hospitals."

The sudden response took him by surprise. He squinted at Daryl through the darkness questioningly, only to be met with hooded eyes that gazed back at him. 

Rick wondered why he wouldn't want to seek treatment. Financial issues? Perhaps he was scared? And then it hit him.

"Oh," he breathed in realization.

Daryl was probably going to get arrested if he were to go to a hospital. The doctors would ask how he got his wounds, and eventually an investigation would take place, leading to Daryl's arrest. Rick knew how the system worked, and knew someone would have to take the blame, and ultimately do time. Which, in this case, would most likely be Daryl alongside his brother.

Despite not being able to seek help at a hospital, he knew Daryl needed some kind of treatment. He didn't need to see the man clearly in order to know he was badly beaten. His exhales came out in the form of pained wheezes, and the aroma of bruised flesh and fresh blood which clung to his physique was evidence enough for Rick.

"Then at least let me help you." Rick offered. He was surprised by how gentle his own voice sounded.

"I don't need your help again." Daryl muttered.

His blunt words somehow managed to pry themselves into Rick's chest - twisting and rearranging his organs into a jumbled mess of confused emotions.

"Why not?"

Silence. And then, an answer.

"'Cause I can't rely on a cop."

The pain in Rick's chest only grew greater at Daryl's simplistic words. It was as if a knife had been plunged into his gut. Was that all he was to Daryl - a cop? Probably. All Daryl was to Rick was a dirty redneck and a possible small time criminal. Except, he wasn't. It felt like this beaten man who stood before Rick was much, much more that that. He wasn't just some redneck.

Rick squinted, "Is this somethin' your brother told you?"

Daryl seemed agitated by that, and Rick watched as he scoffed towards his question. "You don't know shit about my brother."

A wall - one that Rick was learning how to keep climbing over.

"I talked with him when he was spendin' the night at the police station," Rick began to explain, "He said you could take care of yourself without my help."

"Yeah, and he was right." He heard Daryl affirm from the behind the curtain of darkness.

Rick released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in. He began to wonder - why? Why was this man so skeptical of the idea of help. Perhaps, it was a foreign concept to him - an unfamiliar myth not to be trusted. It made him think back to their first encounter, when Rick had to practically force Daryl to let him help him. Daryl needed help then, and he needs help now, even if he will never truly admit it to himself.

Before Rick could respond, a sudden rumble sounded from above. Looking up, he noted how the sky's gleaming stars no longer danced, but dark and angry storm clouds began to roll in instead. Rick thought the sky resembled a fierce ocean - rolling and thrashing against its own power to create a considerably beautiful sight. But before he even had the chance to question it, he felt a cold splat on the tip of his nose.

And then, rain.

Millions upon millions of raindrops plummeted down from the heavens above, creating a symphony of trickling water that surrounded the two. And in mere minutes, the parking lot's surface grew slick with water, reflecting the neon bar sign's flickering light. It was as if the parking lot's surface was no longer flat, but rather rippled as more and more raindrops dove down to connect with it.

Despite now having a soaked shirt, Rick didn't necessarily see the rain as a nuisance, but rather, something completely different. He saw it as something unworldly, like a natural occurrence that only happened when a certain entity allowed it to. Perhaps that entity's name is Daryl.

Rick thought back to the last time he had been in the company of Daryl, and could recall rain. The smell of it, the sound of it, the feel of it, it was all Daryl. He didn't know how to explain it, but it was as if Daryl and the rain belonged together. How he moved amongst the rain when he had left Rick's house made him look as if he was actually apart of it. And now, standing under the rain's powerful wrath across from Daryl, Rick felt like he was on a completely different planet.

"Please," Rick spoke, gentle and soft, "Just let me help you, Daryl." 

He stood with his hands loose at his sides, tall and unmoving amongst the rain as he stared at Daryl, awaiting some form of answer.  And occasionally, with the strike of lightning from above, he could catch two pupils staring back at him.

Even if Rick and Daryl were still considered to be practically strangers, there was something there - some connection between them that reassured one another. Maybe, fate had brought them together. It was crazy for Rick to think, but he knew there was something beneath Daryl's rugged and severely beaten appearance that he wasn't seeing. Perhaps, the unseen part of Daryl Dixon was what the magnet in Rick's chest had been attracted to.

Daryl was just as unmoving as he was. He was so very still, he could maybe even be mistaken for a statue. And then, a small sigh reached Rick's ears.

"Just, help me get my brother somewhere safe."

And just like that, there was an opening - a crack had been inflicted in the wall that allowed light to seep through. The heavy feeling in Rick's gut seemed to vanish at Daryl's words, and he couldn't help but feel a small smile creep to his lips.

"Sure." 

 

Rick wasn't an expert when it came to hauling unconscious drunks to somewhere safe, but he didn't need to be - Daryl knew numerous places where they could put him. It wasn't surprising to Rick, however. He imagined Daryl has done this many times considering he has such a reckless mess for a brother. And in the end, they settled upon carrying Merle to a nearby bus stop bench.

Together, they managed to haul Merle to the bench's considerably dry surface and - not so gently - they laid him down. With a single arm dangling, and drool already pooling at the side of his mouth, Rick thought the man resembled a baby in that moment - except for his harsh features and the alcoholic stench that radiated off of him, of course.

He looked over to Daryl, and wasn't met with eyes gazing back at him, but rather a turned head. Rick saw that he was staring down at his older brother. He couldn't quiet decipher the expression that dashed across Daryl's features, but could tell it wasn't sadness nor guilt, but rather something unfeeling - worn and tired eyes staring down at the unflattering image of a unconscious Merle.

It made Rick think deeply about Daryl, but more importantly, the life he's living. He pondered the idea of having such a worthless brother such as Merle. He wondered what it had been like for Daryl - growing up with him. It was hard to tell if they were even close at all, but they were obviously loyal to the end. Something in Rick's gut desperately urged him to question Daryl's relationship with his own brother, but he didn't act upon it. He wasn't here to interrogate Daryl - but to help him. 

"Are you sure this is a good place to leave him?" Rick questioned, and watched as Daryl turned his head to meet his gaze.

He shrugged. "He's slept in worse."

Rick looked back down to Merle. He thought the man looked decently comfortable, and was well out of the rain's reach. But even so, it was strange - just leaving someone outside in the cold. But then again, this was Merle - a tough, unbreakable redneck that seemed damn near invincible. So he assumed it would be fine. Though, Rick could only imagine the throbbing hangover he'll be greeted with in the morning.

"So, you got anywhere to go?" Rick then asked and looked back to Daryl, "Or am I gonna find you sleepin' in a ditch again?"

He watched as Daryl bit his bottom lip and lowered his head ever so slightly. "Nah, I don't."

Rick tilted his head. "Then where have you been sleepin'?"

Dark hair falling over his eyes, Daryl's gaze bounced between Rick and the ground, as if he was unsure which one he wanted to focus on. 

He shrugged. "Just around."

Rick sighed. Obviously, Daryl hasn't been living too good. Not that he ever has - at least, to the extent of Rick's knowledge.

"Well, I still need to patch you up." Rick put a hand on his hip.

"I'm fine," Daryl grumbled, voice rough and hoarse like that of a feral dog's, "It ain't that bad."

Rick scoffed. "No, you’re not. I don't give a shit what you say, I'm takin' care of those bruises." 

A low grumble sounded from Daryl, and then, he spoke again after a brief silence. 

"Why?"

Who knew a single word could manipulate someone so drastically. The questioning tone in Daryl's voice held so much - so much swirling emotions that hadn't been laced within his vocals, but Rick knew was there. A single word held the entire universe upon its shoulders, questioning why Rick was willing to help when no one has ever before. It made Rick think - has nobody ever helped Daryl before? What terrible existence has this man had to struggle through to make him question a simple act of humane kindness? 

"Because it's the right thing to do." Rick spoke, gentle and warm.

After that, nothing. Daryl's thin lips didn't open, and Rick thought the rain no longer sounded loud, but incredibly silent. The unrelenting army of splatting raindrops didn't register in his mind, as it had simply faded into the background. However, the shield of water which trickled down the bus stop's transparent cover felt like a capsule to Rick - something that seperated the outside world from him, Daryl, and his unconscious brother.

"Listen, I gotta help you, and I'm not leaving until you let me." Rick said, brows raised as he stared into Daryl's rain eyes.

Yes, he thought Daryl's eyes were like the rain - bright, crisp and so unbelievable capturing.

He watched as his pupils darted down to the ground, and finally, after a suspenseful silence that felt like a boulder balancing upon Rick's shoulders, the word he had been hoping to hear finally left Daryl in the form of a raspy breath. 

"Fine."

A warmth blossomed within Rick's chest - a growing heat that flooded his body and coursed through his limbs. It was the feeling of achievement, he supposed. Or perhaps, happiness. It was true - it made him happy knowing that Daryl wasn't in a ditch, or under a tarp, but rather, here with him. Like he had the night he had taken him home, he felt responsible for this feral, unworldly man called Daryl.

Rick felt a smile pick at the corners of his mouth. "Good."

But now the question was - where could Rick take Daryl? He needed somewhere to patch him up, and he knew he couldn't take him to the house again, not after the way Lori had acted. He supposed he could go back into the bar to make an attempt at patching the man up, but that wasn't an option. He didn't want to go back there, and was trying his best to avoid Shane. Besides, he could clearly see the bar was still packed from where they stood at the bus stop, and cringed at the image of him struggling to heal Daryl in such a bustling place.

Just as he was scrolling through the options and possibilities, Daryl pulled him back to the present. "I know where somewhere we could go." He spoke with deep vocals. 

Rick's eyes widened. "Where?"

"Merle's got a place," He began, "An apartment. Nothin' much, just somethin' he goes to every once and awhile."

An apartment? Rick didn't even think  Merle was capable of affording an apartment. "Really?" He questioned, "Would he mind?."

He watched as Daryl casually scuffed a boot against the concrete. "Nah. He couldn't do shit anyway." The two of them looked to the passed out figure of Merle which was draped across the bench, and yes, he truly was incapable of doing anything.

"Well then, apartment it is. Where is it?" Rick asked.

At that, Daryl reached to his back pocket before pulling out a phone. A phone? Did Daryl really have a phone? Rick didn't expect someone who had once been residing in a filthy ditch to have a phone, but apparently, Daryl did. Rick watched in awe as his calloused fingers danced upon the phone's glowing screen, somewhat unexperienced as he struggled to manage his selections. Well, he must've not used it much, considering how ungraceful his fingers were.

"It ain't too far." Daryl gruffly spoke as he stared down at his phone, sliding it back into his pocket. Rick assumed he knew the location on GPS.

With an acknowledging nod, Rick's blue gaze drifted out to the deserted street, and watched as raindrops continuously flooded it's surface. The two were dry beneath the bus stop’s plastic cover, but was Rick expected to walk? He doubted Daryl had a vehicle, but perhaps he did. Afterall, he had surprised him with a phone.

"Are we walkin'?" He asked, turning to Daryl.

He watched as the man's thick shoulders fell ever so slightly. "Yup."

With a sigh, he faced the treacherous journey ahead. "Alright."

 

The journey was miserable. Hair wet and clothes soaked, Rick dreaded the entirety of the time the two had spent dodging raindrops while rushing down a drenched sidewalk. He noticed how isolated it appeared to be at this time of night. Him and Daryl seemed to be the only people around, which didn't surprise him, considering how heavily it was raining. They were insane for going out beneath the rain's harsh fury without any sort of protection, but Rick didn't think of it as one of the craziest things he's done, and actually, stumbling across Daryl in the middle of a bar's parking lot took the place of most bizzare.

He couldn't help but think back to where they had left - the bus stop, the parking lot, the bar, they were all lingering in his mind. He wondered what his partner was doing. Probably grinding up against attractive women while draining shot after shot into his system, blasting music tunneling into his brain and adrenaline pulsing through his body. It was the typical feeling one got when partying, and Rick felt a happiness engulf his chest when thinking about it - happy because he wasn't there, but rather here, with Daryl.

"Here it is." He watched as Daryl pushed open the worn door which lead to the room, and hesitantly followed in after him.

The apartment building itself was clearly unkempt. The rugged shingles, shabby siding, and unpleasing colour scheme all lead Rick to believe it must've been an incredibly cheap rent fee, and that only those in desperate need for a roof over their head must've spent money here. With that in mind, he thought it seemed like a suitable place for Merle, and the room's untidy interior only proved that theory. 

It was dark as Rick stepped in, and the vague aroma of stale carpet and old alcohol tickled at his nose. But despite that, it wasn't too bad. A scratched up couch and armchair were present, along with an ancient looking T.V that was perched upon an unstable looking stand. It was decent enough, and the sudden light which engulfed the room when Daryl had flicked on the light switch made it seem even better. 

Rick watched as the beaten man silently crossed the room to sit down on the armchair, loosely crossing an ankle to balance on his other leg. He popped a cigarette between thin lips almost instantly afterwards, and Rick felt something twist in his gut.

During Daryl's stay at his house, he knew he wasn't comfortable. The entire scenario appeared to be way out of the man's reality, and Rick clearly saw he was itching to escape the entirety of his visit. Because of that, it left him constantly wondering what Daryl's reality did look like. He eagerly wished to see that world - a world where the man resided. But now, watching Daryl slowly rock in a torn armchair in a shabby apartment with a cigarette balancing between his cut and bruised lips, he saw that this was his reality. Daryl's reality looked like this, and it suited him.

"Is there a first aid kit in here?" Rick asked. His question seemed to break the room's thick silence, other that the rain's consistent noise that sounded from outside, which was unbreakable.

Smoke arising from twisted lips, Daryl lifted a hand to gesture towards the bathroom's entrance. 

The bathroom didn't even have a door, Rick saw. Of course, it could be likely that the room was designed without a bathroom door, but it looked as if the door had been torn down, or perhaps even kicked in. He wondered what crazy things had taken place in this little room in the past, but decided not to think about it.

A small shower, grubby toilet, and a smudged mirror were clustered together in the bathroom’s small interior. Four ugly walls with tearing wallpaper, and a faucet that seemed to barely function also glared at Rick as he inspected the already open first aid kit which was sprawled out on the bathroom counter. It looked as if it had been rummaged through, though thankfully, Rick could see the most important contents hadn't been breached nor stolen. So, grabbing the entire kit, he went back to the living room where Daryl sat.

"How in the hell did you get more bruises, anyway? Are they from that fight?" Rick questioned aloud as he strolled in. 

There was a small coffee table in the room's center, and Rick couldn't help but notice the small carvings and scratches that were embedded into it's wooden surface as he placed the first aid kit down on it.

Daryl grumbled, "I dunno."

Rick sat at the couch's edge and rummaged through the kit. "How come?"

He saw Daryl scratch his temple from the corner of his eye. "It's hard to remember all the hits you get in a fight."

"Really?" Rick tore his eyes from the kit to look up at Daryl, "I would've thought you'd remember every single one."

"Nah, I don't." He watched as Daryl took another drag from his cigarette. It's smoke surprisingly didn't bother Rick, as the stench of cigarette ash already clung to every single piece of furniture within the room.

"Well, I probably would." He breathed, before standing from the couch.

Daryl didn't say anything in response to that.

Rick was glad to report that he had everything he needed to successfully patch the man up, and felt the boulder of stress upon his shoulders shatter, only to be replaced by relief. The scenario reminded him of the night he had found Daryl and brought him back to his house - how he had hunched over him in the small bathroom while dabbing at his swollen face, bandaging the various cuts and scrapes that had been beaten into him. He still couldn't believe Daryl's own brother had done that to him. It was something beyond Rick's understanding, something of this world, and not his own.

"Could you sit on the coffee table?" He asked, gesturing towards the small table with a polite smile, "That way I can get a better angle."

Daryl seemed reluctant, of course. Narrow eyes scanning the coffee table's scraped surface, it seemed as if he was deliberating the idea before he put out his cigarette on a nearby ashtray - which was also, coincidently, located on the coffee table - and followed Rick's orders. He moved towards it, and sat. Thankfully, it was sturdy enough to hold the man's weight.

A bruised face with hooded eyes and scraggly hair stared up at Rick as he moved closer to examine him. He couldn't even decipher the look on Daryl's beaten face, as the throbbing dark purple splotches prevented him from seeing much of anything. However, it wasn't like Daryl was very expressive, anyway. It was clear that the wounds were indeed much worse that last time, and with the help of a lit room, Rick could see just how severe they truly were. 

Daryl's right eye had been completely swallowed by a dark purple bruise that was slick with blood. It was monstrous and large, like a parasite that clung to his socket. His jaw, nose, and lips had also been invaded with bruises, as they held a dark purple pigment within beaten flesh. And of course, cuts, small and big, littered his features like the plague. It was a horrendous sight. Of course Daryl couldn't remember all the hits he had received, it looked as if it had been millions. 

"I'm gonna have to clean it first." Rick muttered under his breath, and met the luminous eyes that glared up at him. The darkness of the bruises made it seem as if the man's eyes were twice as radiant.

He left the living room, and made his way into the bathroom once again. A dark, worn rag was thankfully on the counter, and Rick somehow managed to wet it by harshly cranking the faucet's creaky handle. Now, with a damp rag in hand, he returned to the living room and positioned himself before Daryl once again.

He hovered the rag over the man's face. "This might hurt a bit." Rick muttered quietly.

"Just do it." The rough, low grumble of Daryl's voice reached his ears, and Rick saw his tattered fist's curl around the coffee table's edge, as if he was bracing himself. 

Slowly and gently, he carefully pressed the rag's moist side against the large purple splotch that was Daryl's eye socket. It must've felt cool against the man's face, because instead of wincing in pain as expected, Rick saw his broad shoulders drop ever so slightly in bliss. He could even hear a very faint breath slip past his cut lips as Rick continued to dab at the wounds. 

He found himself feeling satisfied. Satisfied in a way that he would never expect, considering the odd situation he was currently in. He was in Merle's shitty apartment, wearing a rain soaked shirt, and had abandoned Shane. And yet, he had never felt more content with his position in the world. Rick had found that, despite previously denying it, he actually liked helping Daryl. Even if it was simply patching him up, or giving him shelter, it made him feel responsible for something - needed for something. In many ways, Rick thought Daryl resembled a stray dog. The way he sat upon the coffee table with slumped shoulders and an awkwardly twisted mouth in utter silence was exactly how a feral, stray, and beaten canine would act. Atleast, Rick thought so.

"Does it hurt?" He quietly questioned, but somehow already knew the answer.

"Nah."

With the faint patter of rain from outside engulfing his thoughts, Rick continued to gently press the rag's soft material against the throbbing cuts and bruises. He eventually began to expand and cleaned the wounds on his jaw, nose, lips, and even his forehead - which resulted in Daryl's bangs becoming damp, in which they grew slick against his face, revealing a little more of what his hooded eyes actually looked like.

Rick shuffled his feet. He was staring down at Daryl, but didn't meet his gaze. He saw that the man was focusing on the ceiling. It almost looked as if his conscience had been swallowed by the rain's soothing melody as well. 

"Why don't you just stay here?" Rick suddenly asked as he continued to work on Daryl's face, breaking the silence, "You said your brother doesn't come here much, so why don't you sleep here instead of out on the streets?"

A breath left Daryl. "It's still his place." He spoke with a level and steady tone, and his hoarse vocals rumbled within his throat like thunder, which seemed to pair nicely with the rain's own sound.

"Yeah, but he's your brother." Rick stated with a questioning tone.

He knew the two brothers had a complex relationship that he wasn't capable of understanding, but Merle would at least allow Daryl to crash at his crappy little apartment, right? Rick wondered where Merle often slept if Daryl was finding comfort in filthy ditches on roadsides.

"Even if he's my brother, he's still an asshole." Daryl responded gruffly, and Rick couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Yeah," Rick grinned as he continued to clean the bruises, "Merle really is an asshole." 

He could hear Daryl let out an amused scoff at that. Thin lips turned upwards into a small, twisted smile, Rick realized in that moment he had never seen Daryl actually smile before, not once. It was a strange sight - as if it didn't belong on Daryl's scraggly jaw, and seemed abnormal compared to the stoic line that was usually there. Yet all at the same time, Rick wished it would never leave his face.

 

The process was longer than expected, and at the end Rick could feel his chest grow heavy and his eyes flutter with slumber. The coffee table's once somewhat clean surface was now crowded with medical supplies. From bandages to rubber gloves, it was all scattered around like an explosion had gone off. But despite that, Rick had managed to finish, and Daryl's condition seemed somewhat more stable than before. 

"Alright," Rick stepped back from Daryl, "Finished."

He scanned over Daryl's bandaged features like an artist examining his work for faults. And Daryl, like an obedient dog, sat quietly with bold shoulders hunched and damp hair clinging to his forehead. He looked uncomfortable, Rick saw. Mouth tense and twisted, he could clearly see Daryl's awkwardness shine through his dark and rugged appearance. It was expected of him, considering how physically close Rick had gotten to him throughout the process. But now, his face looked better, in a sense.

The bright white bandages shined against Daryl's dark bruises and hair like an oasis - an oasis promising possible recovery. Almost all of his cuts had been bandaged, however, the monstrous bruises that littered his face were still gruesome and ugly. It would take a considerably long time until they would completely vanish, and Rick had done all he could do for now.

He watched as Daryl quietly stood from his place at the coffee table's edge. And then, a pair of eyes surfaced. Hooded and pale, Daryl's gaze held a look - one of gratitude, and possibly even thankfulness. Rick had seen it before. When the man had taken his leave from his house that day, that same gaze was casted in his direction before his departure as rain fell around them. Though, Rick never thought he would see it again.

"Thanks." Daryl muttered as he chewed at his bottom lip. Brief yet honest.

Rick nodded. "Your welcome."

After that short exchange of words, Daryl moved towards the torn and rather ugly couch before plopping down with a low grunt. He kicked his feet up on the cluttered coffee table, and lifted a scarred, dirty hand to rub at his chin scruff - most likely absentmindedly. Rick - exhausted and still slightly damp from the rain - joined him. And there they sat, together. 

Being with the entity known as Daryl Dixon still felt like he was living through a bizarre dream. After his departure, Rick would've never thought he'd run into him again, not to mention be sitting in an apartment with him. But here he was - with Daryl, and he felt something inside his chest expand.

The rain continued to paint the apartment's grubby windows with it's touch, sending the soft noise of trickling water into Rick's ears like a gentle embrace. It wasn't disturbing in the least, and he actually found it to be rather soothing as he sank deeper into the couch and felt his eyes grow heavy. Today had been a long and complicated day.

"I didn't think I'd see you again."

Rick turned his head to see Daryl staring up at the ceiling with his head lolled back, looking just as tired as him. His lengthy hair hanging in his eyes like a curtain, it was as if he hadn't even spoken at all. But Rick couldn't mistake those gruff vocals.

After a moment, Rick allowed his head to turn away again, "I didn't either." 

It was a light conversation. It wasn't even a conversation, really, but just talk. Just stating facts. Just saying words. It was what humans did. It was what Daryl and Rick were doing.

"You ain't' gonna arrest me or my brother, right?"

The question was unexpected, and it hit Rick in the gut like a forceful kick. "No."

Of course he wasn't going to arrest them. How could he? Despite being a man of the law, and despite disobeying his duties as an officer, Rick wouldn't allow himself to. Sure, maybe the idea of dragging Merle off to the drunk tank didn't vex him, but he wouldn't do that to Daryl. It wasn't his place to. He couldn't disturb Daryl's world.

"But," Daryl's voice reached his ears again, captivating and low, "You're a cop."

Slumped back, Rick's chest rose as he sighed. "Yeah, I am."

They didn't meet each other's eyes, and they didn't need to. Both were staring into nothing - the rain wrapping them into a calming haze of random thoughts. And Rick knew without even having to glance at him that Daryl was in the same trance. However, the light exchange of words that drifted from their mouths gave Rick's mind something to latch onto - something to think about.

"You got any family other than Merle?" He asked, eyelids heavy as if they were balancing weights, but his mind still active and alive.

He could hear the soft ruffling of fabric against fabric as Daryl shifted slightly. "Nah," Bold and straightforward, "Just us."

Rick nodded. "I see."

"How about you? Just you and your wife?" The man then asked, voice relaxed and hoarse as he spoke in a low tone.

"We have a boy. His name is Carl." Rick answered, "He's eight right now, about to turn nine."

Daryl drew in a breath. "Good for you."

"Thanks. He's a good kid. Too bad you didn't get to meet him."

He could see Daryl shift his large shoulders at that. "Yeah." He quietly agreed.

And then, nothing else. No more words left Daryl nor Rick, and the room's silence was eventually overthrown by the rain's soothing lullaby. 

Perhaps the beaten man who was slumped next to Rick was something more than he had thought. They had talked about family, and for a moment, they could be mistaken as acquaintances or perhaps even friends by the way they casually conversed back and forth about nothing particularly significant. But maybe Daryl was more than an entity Rick clung to. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn more about him by using this tactic - talking. It was what humans did, after all.

The couch's surprisingly soft material felt warm against Rick's aching back, and reality began to fade in and out as his eyes fluttered rapidly, slumber tugging at his mind. He hadn't felt this tired in so long, but the day had brought down quite an overwhelming weight of needed rest upon his shoulders. So, body heavy and breathing low, he felt his entire body drain into sleep, as the man beside him fell with him.

And together, they soundly slept beneath the rain's watchful eye as their dreams intermingled and sang together in harmony.

Rick didn't mean to fall asleep so suddenly.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's chapter 6. :)
> 
> I'm really sorry this one took so long. Firstly, it ended up being a lot longer than any of the previous chapters. And secondly, I have been fairly busy with school and just life in general. But I really really appreciate all the support!!! All of your comments and kudos really help push me to make more chapters!


	7. Maybe

Gasping, Rick felt his entire body jolt into consciousness. He gripped the couch's side with clenched fists and slowly rose to sit with a gaping mouth. He gulped, and frantically looked around the room with wild eyes.

It was light, he could clearly see. The sunlight's familiar morning rays poured in through the window's grubby glass and painted the grimy interior with it's warm embrace. Rick thought the room - unlike last night - actually looked rather pleasant during the day, and was shocked to see how many windows there actually were. He noticed a small patch of sunlight that cast itself on the couch cushion right beside him. Absentmindedly, his hand drifted towards it's warmth. And it was, indeed, warm. Soothing and welcoming, just as Rick had expected. He sunk back into the couch and his head lolled back. He could almost drift back to sleep again, but the memories of last night all rushed back to him like a tidal wave and wouldn't let his mind rest.

He could recall rain - plummeting down from swirling skies above as if it needed the earth's touch. The cooling sensation of water droplets rolling down his arms and face still felt fresh in his memory, and the noise of splatting water still prominent in his thoughts. But in the soft glow of the morning, the earth now held a thin sheet of droplets upon its surface. Leaves now drooped with moisture, and sidewalks rippled with water. Rick could see it all by gazing out the small window from his place on the couch, and he allowed himself to simply bask in the sight. It sent a calming wave down his spine.

With a low sigh, His body eased as he balanced his elbows on his knees, aimlessly observing the room he was in. He still couldn't fathom the idea of Merle Dixon having his own apartment, but his eyes didn't deceive him. 

His gaze then fell slightly. Where was Daryl? 

Rick couldn't help but feel as if a hole had been formed in his chest, for the mysterious man who had accompanied him on the couch last night was nowhere to be seen. It almost made him question if he had really ever been here at all - as if 'Daryl' was just some unattainable entity that burrowed itself into Rick's thoughts and clouded his judgement. Yes, he often had this theory about the man. However, he could vividly recall drifting to sleep alongside Daryl that night on this exact couch. Hopefully Rick's memories were loyal to him.

He stood slowly while taking a moment to scan the room. He could see clearly into the kitchen through a scratched and rugged wooden arch, and saw how noticeably bland it seemed. Light walls and white cupboards made it clear to Rick that it's appearance hadn't been changed from its original design. It seemed believable, considering Merle didn't seem like the type to tamper with interior design.

Hopeless, Rick turned and stood with arms limp at his sides and simply stared - at nothing in particular, of course. But in this case he happened to be staring down at the coffee table he stood next to, taking in the deepened scars upon it's wooden surface while questioning everything that existed around him.

Last night was a rush of adrenaline - rebelling against his duties as a cop, running in the rain, growing more fascinated by the man known as Daryl - and left Rick with a deep sense of unexplainable guilt. He already knew he wasn't where he was supposed to be, though his desire to escape drew him here. Or more accurately, towards Daryl. He was trespassing in this world full of cigarette smoke and deadbeat older brothers, and was now standing all alone in a shitty apartment with nothing but memories as evidence proving last night had actually happened. Lori would be disappointed if she saw Rick right now, and perhaps rightfully so. Daryl's absence only seemed to reaffirm his feelings of guilt.

Daryl was probably gone now - fled from the damn country. After all, Rick was a cop, something undoubtedly untrustworthy in the Dixon's eyes. And Daryl had grown all too familiar with this cop in particular, right? So of course he must've left. Now Rick felt stupid for even considering their relationship to be classified as anything more than what it was.

Perhaps he should return home and just forget about this entire thing. That would be the most reasonable thing to do. Although, he knew it would be impossible, for he could never truly forget the image of those ancient pupils watching him behind rain soaked bangs. The only thing he was certain he could do would be to leave this place, and never come back. He would return to being a straightforward cop with nothing to hide except for his crumbling marriage, living day by day in a haze feeling as if his entire skull were submerged underwater, longing for Daryl Dixon to pull him out. 

Rick tore himself from his thoughts and moved towards the front door. As if it would bite his hand if he made contact, he slowly inched his fingers toward's the doorknob. It felt like it was glaring at him from below, though all he could see was his own reflection staring back at him within it's rusted surface. With a sigh, he looked blankly at the chipped wood of the door before twisting his hand, and pushing it open. The sun's soft glow immediately flooded in, and Rick paused momentarily as the sounds of the outside world reached his ears. Leaves rustling, the distant laughter of children, and faraway car alarms. Was Rick really in the same place? Last night it seemed utterly desolate, and now it boomed with life - even despite being so early in the morning.

His eyes fluttered against the sun's glowing rays as his gaze fell upon a dark figure leaning against the railing.

For a brief moment Rick thought someone had been awaiting him, since they were practically right in front of the door. But after a moment of examination, he swore his chest damn near leapt from his torso when he realized who it was. 

It was just all to familiar - the grubby t-shirt that hung from broad shoulders, the dark hair that slowly danced in the breeze, and the trail of smoke that floated from thin, cut lips. It was Daryl Dixon summed up in one image. The orange morning skies that held accents of pastel glowed against his hunched silhouette, and the sweet smell of after-rain mornings mixed with cigarette smoke burrowed itself into Rick's nostrils like it never wanted to leave, and he hoped it wouldn't.

 The fact that Daryl still resided within Rick's reach sent a tidal wave of immense relief down his spine. The gates of this foreign world hadn't closed like he had thought, but were rather wide open - like gaping arms awaiting the next visitor - and Rick couldn't help but yearn to explore deeper. He wondered if the realm of his own reality would still satisfy him afterwards, though assumed it wouldn't.

He let out a shaky breath and joined Daryl in leaning on the rail. 

Daryl turned. The cigarette between his calloused fingertips was held lazily at his lips, and it's smoke twisted slowly upwards. His hooded eyes were docile in this moment, and seemed only brighter against the gruesome black eye that swallowed his aching socket. Perhaps it was just the morning's godly rays casting an illusion, but Rick thought Daryl resembled an angel in this moment.

"Hey." His voice - low, rugged, grumbly, and easy to listen to - traveled across the air like water. Or perhaps more accurately, rain. 

His remark was so stunningly simplistic and human that Rick found himself fumbling for a response.

"Mornin'."

The man's eyes only wandered Rick's face for a moment before disappearing. He followed Daryl's gaze to a trio of children across the street. They were playing in the front lawn of a small blue house, shoving and running playfully upon the damp grass. It was strange - everyone in this small part of the distant city seemed to wake rather early, as if the rising sun summoned the sleeping souls that inhabited this neighborhood to bring joy in the daylight. And although most of the buildings that lined the street had chipped paint and worn shingles, it still held a warm aura that Rick found pleasant.

The children continued to laugh and play. "How does your face feel?" 

Daryl took a long drag from his cigarette. "Fine."

Rick nodded slightly. "Good."

Rick - shockingly enough - had never seen Daryl without those dark, looming splotches of purple beaten into his face. Ever since the day they met in that ditch, Daryl has worn bruises and cuts as if it was a mask he refused to take off. He pondered what the man would look like without them, but at this point he'd simply gotten used to seeing them.

He shifted his elbows against the railing, and noticed how it's surface was still slick from the rain. "Do you think Merle is alright?"

"Yeah," Daryl began, and Rick looked over to him. "Merle can survive fuckin' anythin'. He's probably sniffing 'round for booze right now."

Rick smiled at that, and saw Daryl did too - although small and subtle. "I wouldn't expect anythin' different from him." He breathed a laugh.

He saw Daryl briefly nod as he brought his cigarette up to his lips once again.

Rick looked back to lazily watch the kids as the soft glow from the sun warmed the side of his face. He could see that the children had been addressed by a female voice, which sounded like their mother, and they were all ordered back into the small blue house - probably for breakfast, according to what Rick had picked up from the conversation.

"So," Rick looked down at his hands which were cupped into a ball. "What was that fight about last night?"

There was a small pause, but the relaxed atmosphere that circled the two didn't change. Rick heard the heavy exhale Daryl let out when smoke twirled from his nostrils, and noted how it sounded strained.

"Nothin'. Just shit Merle stirred up." He answered slowly.

That seemed reasonable enough for Rick, and he gave a small nod.

Rick caught a glance of Daryl taking a final drag from his cigarette. The end crumbled into ash as a final cloud of smoke left his lips. He let it fall from his fingers, distinguishing it with his shoe and smearing it into the concrete. 

"You really should stay here, Daryl." The words left Rick like the breeze - sweet and gentle.

Bruised eyes turned to Rick, and he could already feel the man's wall slowly rising - the wall that was created to keep people like Rick from falling too deep into the unknown. 

Daryl gave a shrug, and his gaze returned to watch the morning skies that constantly shifted and changed, twirling and dancing endlessly. The sky often reassured Rick that he wasn't stuck in time, though nowadays he found Daryl's presence to be much more assuring. 

"It's better then the streets," Rick continued, "And maybe Merle would even let you have it, since you said he doesn't use it much."

Rick watched Daryl's head lower, followed by another shrug. "It ain't my place."

"But it could be."

The movement of leaves in the breeze and the comforting warmth of the ascending sun overtook the silence which had snuggly settled between them. Rick could see Daryl was thinking, those clever eyes jumping from side to side as if he were scanning his options. It made him wish he could peek into Daryl's mind to witness it's beauty first hand, though he knew it'd be far too complex for him to navigate through. Perhaps one day he might be able to. 

Daryl shifted against the railing. "Maybe."

Despite being one insignificant response, the word 'maybe' summoned a flame within Rick's chest. Hope - In the form of a fast spreading warmth that traveled down his limbs, and soon made it's way to his lips, where a smile blossomed - overtook Rick.

"I'll take a maybe." He grinned, and Daryl stared.

 

Eventually the sun pursued it's rightful place within the sky's blue grasp, signaling noon. Daryl and Rick went inside to take shelter from the dreadful Atlanta heat guaranteed to soon follow, though Rick knew he had to soon return home.

The idea of returning home to Lori and Carl now seemed strange, for he'd been absorbed in this world for so long, exploring deeper and learning more about Daryl along with the life he lived. Going back to his own seemed distasteful. Though, he now had a connection with this other world - a portal that guaranteed his return, and it was all through his phone.

Daryl had a phone, and as inexperienced as he was in using it, it now had Rick's number - a reassuring portal between them, connecting their worlds. Now Rick was certain Daryl wasn't just a figment of his imagination, but rather a living being he could potentially see again. It made him feel more certain of his place in the world.

Rick stood at the door, and turned to Daryl with his hand on the knob. "Seriously, you should think about it - making this place a home." 

Daryl's eyes flickered downwards as a stiffness seemed to inhabit his broad shoulders. He looked uncertain, or possibly even hesitant about the idea of 'settling down'. But nonetheless, Rick stood patiently.

"Maybe."

Cellphone feeling heavy in his pocket, Rick quietly left the shabby apartment. 

He had to call an uber to get home, since Shane had drove him all the way out here in the first place. Speaking of Shane, Rick assumed his friend was most likely passed out in tangled sheets with a woman by his side. It was only to be expected of his partner, and even made him giggle on the way home. 

The uber managed to drop him off at the front door, which definitely made a decent dent in Rick's wallet. But nonetheless, he was home, and utterly terrified of the deranged creature he called his wife who awaited him.

"Where the hell have you been!?" As soon as he stepped in, he was welcomed by Lori scrambling to meet him with wild eyes, placing her hands all over his face to make sure he was okay.

"Something came up while I was out with Shane, alright? I'm fine." Rick struggled to distance himself from her frantic hands.

She stepped back. "What possibly could've came up? We were worried sick! I tried calling Shane, but he wouldn't pick up." Her expression of worry soon shifted to anger. "Carl was scared something had happened to you."

Her last sentence hit him like a punch to the gut, sending waves of guilt throughout his chest. Sweet little Carl. Rick's heart softened. "Is he okay?"

Lori's arms were crossed over her chest like an impenetrable wall. "He's sleeping."

Rick's eyes lowered. "Alright."

After a long pause, Lori broke the silence. 

"Where were you, Rick?" Her words were dangerously slow now, and her large hazel eyes possessed a demanding era, as if she were staring directly into his soul. His jaw clenched.

"I stayed over at a friend's house."

Lori squinted. "Who's?"

Rick paused. 

"Daryl's."

Like the calm before the storm, Rick watched as his wife's face raced through confusion, realization, and ultimately, anger in a flash. Her shoulders rose as she drew in a huge breath. "Daryl?!"

"Yes, Daryl." He snapped back.

Lori's lips tightened into an angry line and her eyes bulged. "So what - now you're friends with this guy?" she spat. "He's a stranger, Rick! And not to mention, probably in trouble with the law!"

Rick's fists clenched. "You don't know anything about him."

"Oh! And you do?" Lori's hands waved frantically in the air as if she were swatting at invisible flies. 

"Yes, Lori, I do!" Rick retorted, "And I know that he's a good guy who needs my help!"

She scoffed at that, and it made Rick's gut boil. "It's not something we should be getting involved in."

He paused. "He needs help."

Lori sighed. "It's not our business, Rick." Her eyes rolled. "He can take care of himself."

Rick stood - staring at a woman who glared up at him with crossed arms. This woman was someone he didn't recognize. Supposedly she was his beloved wife, someone he had fallen in love with many years ago when his life still held colour. But in this moment - when the room fell silent and Rick was certain time had stopped - he didn't know her. Big hazel eyes stared up at him, and he swore he felt a spark of hatred in his heart.

He gulped and blinked, and looked down to the floorboards he stood on. They were always polished, he noted - clean and ultimately, _perfect_ , just like Rick's world. Lori liked things clean, and it only reminded him of how drastically his life had changed since his young adulthood. Rick didn't care for clean. Clean only reminded him how far away he still was from Daryl's world. 

With a sigh, he met Lori's gaze again. He couldn't hold back the betrayal he held in his eyes.

"I'm going to help him."

Her eyelashes swept close, then opened again. "Then you are making a mistake." She spoke with a low voice, before turning away to retreat into the depths of the house.

Rick stood alone at the front door - hands at his side, and a dreadful feeling of an endless abyss in his heart. He felt empty, in a sense, though overwhelmed all at the same time. As if a million knives had been thrown at his head and were now spiraling towards him, a heavy exhaustion filled his chest when he pondered his marriage.

In the beginning, Rick eagerly explored everything that came with marriage. The wedding, buying a house, and of course, the birth of Carl. Perhaps he didn't realize it at the time, but his happiness soon began to decline. His life became repetitive, colourless, clean, and perfect. He didn't want perfect, but Lori did. Now he's certain he despises the idea of perfection, and yearns for something - anything that could possibly pull him out.

The imagery of icy eyes hidden behind a sheet of rain came to Rick.

He sighed, and then thought of Carl. Without intention his legs brought him to the boy's room. With one hand twisting the knob he gently pushed open the door to see the turned back of Carl. He could clearly see his breaths were slow as he slept, for his side rose each time he inhaled, and Rick couldn't help but smile. Sweet little Carl. He was still here. After a final gander, he quietly left the room.

 

Rick - as he had assumed - made himself a bed on the couch that night. He didn't need to be told to, but rather took it upon himself to call the couch his bed. It was an attempt to distance himself from his sleeping wife who occupied their bed, despite the painful back that was guaranteed to greet him the next morning.

Sheets snugly pulled up to his chin, Rick didn't mind simply sleeping in his clothes. After all, it probably wouldn't make any difference anyway, considering how exhausted his body was from last night's events. His mind traveled back to the imagery of the bar's neon sign flashing against the slick pavement. He thought of the rain's smell, and the subtle aroma of blood and booze that was mixed in with it. He thought of his cell phone.

Rick buried his hand beneath the blanket as he searched his front pocket before eventually pulling out his phone. With squinted eyes, he propped it up to his face and clicked it on, recoiling at the sudden brightness. He pressed 'contacts' with the pad of his thumb, and immediately scrolled downwards until Daryl's name showed up. His chest tightened.

Would Daryl still be awake at this hour? Rick's eyes flickered to the top of the screen and saw it was only 10:12 PM. He looked back to Daryl's name. Would he still be in the apartment, or would he have left already - strolling the streets in search of somewhere to stay, all alone in the dark. Rick grimaced at the thought. 

He could call him. With twisted lips, Rick's thumb began to tediously circle around his name. But, would Daryl even answer? He paused for a moment to take a deep breath before returning his eyes to the screen. There was only one way of knowing. With an inhale, he pressed 'call'.

Holding it up to his ear, Rick stared impatiently into the darkness of the living room. Each ring sent doubt rumbling down his arm, until eventually, it ceased, and a voice answered from the other end. 

"Hello?"

It was Daryl's voice, for sure, yet it clearly sounded awkward through the speakers - as if he were inexperienced in answering the phone. Which Rick believed to be exactly the case.

He shuffled beneath the blanket before clearing his voice. "Hey, It's me."

"Rick?" Despite his grumbly voice, the question was innocent, and it almost made Rick snicker. 

"Yeah." He smiled.

He could hear Daryl's faint hum of realization through the speaker. "Hey."

"Are you at the apartment?"

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Rick wondered if the question had been to personal, until his voice returned. 

"Yeah."

Daryl was at the apartment - safe from the darkened streets he used to roam. Rick gave a sigh of relief, and felt his chest melt within his ribcage at the fact the man wasn't in danger, but rather safely within the apartment's chipping walls.

"How is it?" Rick questioned.

Shuffling sounded from the other end, and he could only assume Daryl was glancing around. "'Tis nice."

"I bet it's a big change, huh?"

"Yeah." Although brief, it sounded honest. 

Rick twisted himself to lay on his side, and moved the phone to the opposite ear where it was wedged between his head and the pillow. He didn't speak for a long pause, and for a moment he could've swore he heard Daryl's quiet breaths, almost as if he were actually there.

"My wife isn't in a good mood tonight." Rick randomly spoke up.

Silence, then an answer. "Why?"

Little did Daryl know, it was about him, and the fact that Rick was getting involved with him. Though, that wasn't Daryl's burden to bare. He sighed lightly. "You tell me, man." He said jokingly and breathed a faint laugh. "She's bein' unreasonable. I'm even sleepin' on the couch tonight."

A low hum echoed through the speaker, though no words followed. Gulping, Rick shuffled awkwardly in the silence. 

"You ever had a girlfriend, Daryl?" Despite managing to sound somewhat composed, his nerves rippled when the question left his lips. Rick was more than aware it was a weird question, but stood by it anyway. Besides, there was no taking it back now.

Daryl gave a brief cough, and surprisingly enough, he also gave an answer. "Nah, not really," A brief silence occurred before more followed. "I ain't too good with that kinda shit."

That peaked Rick's interest. "How so?"

"Never was into it, I guess. All that romantic bullshit. Ain't good at it." His rugged voice traveled into Rick's eager ear and swirled within his skull, engulfing his thoughts until only the man's voice was left to ponder. 

"Yeah," Rick agreed, "I ain't too good at it either."

He could've sworn he heard Daryl smile at that - a quiet breath that left his quirked lips. Though, there was no way of knowing, for Rick couldn't actually see him. He imagined him in the apartment, slumped back on the tattered couch Rick had grown all too familiar with. Maybe he was smoking a cigarette, maybe he wasn't. Rick envisioned it all, and for a moment, it was almost as if he were there. 

Suddenly, a faint banging noise sounded from Daryl's end, accompanied by a curse that left his lips and reached Rick's ears. "Shit, gotta go."

"Wait wha-"

Before he could question it, Daryl had hung up. 

With that, Rick was left alone and confused within the living room shadows, staring into the empty darkness that glared back at him with a puzzled look. The banging he had heard sounded like knocking. He turned to lay on his back, and stared up at the ceiling. Who would visit Daryl at that apartment? Thoughts raced through Rick's frantic thoughts, though came up empty. Maybe it was someone he knew. He sighed.

After what seemed like an entire lifetime of endlessly circling around possible scenarios, sleep eventually took Rick by the hand and eased him to rest.

Perhaps tomorrow he could visit Daryl.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, this chapter isn't my best work and is a lot worse than my earlier ones.  
> Secondly, I REALLY appreciate the patience everyone has had with me. I know I am always verryyyy slow when it comes to adding new chapters, and I truly am sorry I have to make everyone wait so damn long. Each chapter takes at least four days to write, and getting the motivation to even start one takes a lot longer. But I thank you all.  
> I read every single comment I get. I always am reading them over, and I really really love the support you guys are showing me. You have no idea how much it means to me. Thank you. <:
> 
> But all that aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


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